


A Crash Course In Falling

by carolinecrane



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Community: hc_bingo, Forced Bonding, M/M, Minor Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Soul Bond, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:24:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When people can’t see what’s standing right in front of them, sometimes the universe resorts to drastic measures. This is one of those times. Wingfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It starts with an itch he can’t quite scratch.

Literally, it’s an _itch_ , nagging right at the center of his back where he can’t reach it. Kurt ignores it, twitching irritably every so often when the itch flares up, but he doesn’t have time to be distracted. It’s graduation day, after all, and he’s got far too much to do to worry about a minor annoyance like an itch.

The shower helps a little; he turns the water to cool and lets it run over his back, soothing the spot until he lets out a relieved sigh and lets his head fall forward under the spray. But he doesn’t have time to linger, and as soon as he shuts off the water and reaches for a towel the itch is back, creeping up slowly until it’s a full-blown, nagging distraction.

He does his best to ignore it while he goes through his morning routine, carefully applying moisturizer and eye cream before he pulls on the outfit he picked out for his final appearance as a high school student. His new shirt catches a little on his back, and Kurt frowns and arches to try to reach the spot where the nagging itch persists. He can’t feel anything unusual – still can’t reach the damn itch, either – so he tugs the shirt closed and carefully buttons it before he pulls on his slacks and then shrugs into his new jacket.

It doesn’t fit quite as well as he remembers; in the store it had slid on as though it was made for him, but now it’s pulling just a bit across his back and shoulders. Kurt frowns and shrugs into the fabric, and finally the jacket settles more or less comfortably. Still not quite perfect, but he doesn’t have time to worry about it, at least not if he wants to make it to graduation on time.

“Kurt! Breakfast,” his father calls up the stairs right on cue, and Kurt smoothes his hands over the front of his jacket one more time before he pulls his bedroom door open and heads down to the kitchen.

The table’s piled with enough food to feed an army, though Kurt doesn’t say so out loud, because Carole’s still a little sensitive about Finn’s decision to enlist. His dad and Finn are already seated at the table, and Kurt didn’t realize Puck was coming over for breakfast, but there he is, sitting in Carole’s chair and piling waffles onto his plate.

“You’re the best, Mrs. H,” Puck says around a mouthful of food, and it’s a mark of how much time Puck spends at their house that Kurt doesn’t even wrinkle his nose at the sight anymore.

Instead he slides into his own chair and takes the cup of coffee his dad pours for him, wrapping his hands around it and wincing when his shirt rubs uncomfortably on his back.

“Everything okay, son?” his dad asks, watching Kurt fidget over his own coffee cup.

“Fine,” Kurt answers, but he squirms in his chair again. “It’s just an itch.”

Across the table Puck smirks and opens his mouth to say something, but before he gets a chance Finn kicks him under the table. 

“Ow! Dude, what?” Puck says instead, but Finn doesn’t answer. He just glares for a second before he shakes his head and turns back to his breakfast, and Kurt seriously doesn’t want to know.

Kurt’s dad frowns at both of them before he stands up, pushing his chair back and picking up his empty plate. He pauses on the way to the sink to clap his free hand on Kurt’s shoulder, and it shouldn’t hurt, because his dad’s done the same exact thing thousands of times, but Kurt flinches anyway.

A jolt of pain shoots through his back, burning right in the center where the itch is the worst. He swallows a gasp as his dad lets go, grateful that he doesn’t seem to notice. Because it’s nothing; probably just a pinched nerve from sleeping wrong, and he’ll be okay as soon as he moves around a little.

Kurt looks up to find Puck frowning at him, but when he opens his mouth, Kurt narrows his eyes until Puck shrugs and turns back to his breakfast without commenting. His back still itches, but Kurt resists the urge to lean back into his chair and rub against it. What he really wants to do is go back upstairs and get back in the shower, let the cool water soothe his skin until the itching stops completely. But there’s no time, at least not if he wants to walk across the stage with the rest of his class.

They leave for graduation not long after the breakfast dishes are cleared, and as soon as they reach the auditorium Kurt leaves his family behind to seek out Mercedes. She’s not seated that far away from him, thanks to their last names, and even though they’ll be split up once they have to line up alphabetically, at least they’re in the same section.

As soon as she sees him Mercedes squeals and grabs him, but as soon as she puts her arms around him he gasps and pulls out of her grip. He can hear Mercedes asking what’s wrong, but he’s too busy trying to catch his breath to answer her. When Mercedes reaches for his arm he steps away instinctively, shaking his head and fighting to find his voice.

“Sorry,” he finally manages when the burning sensation subsides a little. “It’s not...I did something to my back, I think.”

Mercedes frowns at him, but she doesn’t reach for him again. “Are you sure you shouldn’t go to the doctor?”

“I’m fine,” he says, because there’s no way he’s missing graduation for a simple pinched nerve. “I probably just slept on it wrong.”

She doesn’t look that convinced, but she doesn’t argue with him, and by the time Ms. Pillsbury calls for the students to line up the pain’s subsided back to the same dull itch that’s been there all morning. Kurt takes his place behind Finn in line, smoothing his hands over the front of his gown one last time before he follows Finn down the center aisle toward their seats.

He sits back gingerly, part of him expecting a burst of pain as soon as he leans against the chair. But there’s nothing, just the same itching as before, and Kurt frowns and tries to get comfortable enough to make it through the ceremony without going insane from the incessant itch. 

The ceremony goes on a lot longer than necessary, but finally they make it through the speeches and the singing and get to the part where Figgins calls out their names one by one. Kurt stands at the bottom of the stairs while Finn walks across the stage, listening to the catcalls and cheers from the audience as McKinley’s quarterback accepts his diploma and shakes Figgins’ hand. Mr. Schuester’s on stage too, waiting at the end of the line of teachers to wrap Finn in a completely inappropriate hug. No one seems to think anything of it, though, probably because they’re all so used to Schue’s inappropriateness by now.

Kurt takes a deep breath when they call his name, reaching up to make sure his cap is straight before he climbs the stairs to cross the stage. When he reaches Figgins he holds out his hand to shake, the other reaching for his diploma the way Ms. Pillsbury made them all practice. He’s not expecting the jolt of pain that shoots through him as soon as Figgins touches him, and Kurt snatches his hand back as though he’s been burned.

That’s exactly what it feels like, and he hears his breath catch and Figgins’ voice asking if he’s okay.

“Fine,” Kurt manages to choke out, fingers closing too hard around his diploma as he turns and heads off the stage. He manages to avoid the rest of the teachers, waving Schue away when he tries to stop Kurt. He stumbles down the stairs and heads back to his seat, careful to avoid touching Finn when he sits down again.

“Dude, you okay?” Finn asks, but he doesn’t try to touch, and Kurt lets out a deep breath and nods.

By the time the last diploma is handed out Kurt can breathe again, but the itch in the center of his back has escalated into a weird burning sensation. It’s not as intense as when someone touches him, but it’s there all the same, and Kurt’s starting to think maybe the problem’s a little more serious than a pinched nerve. 

Once the ceremony’s over everyone in the auditorium moves at once, and as soon as Kurt realizes he’s caught in the center of a crowd he knows he’s in trouble. He doesn’t know _why_ , has no idea what’s happening to him or why it suddenly hurts so much just to shake someone’s hand. But it’s clear there’s something wrong, and he knows he’s going to have to tell his dad.

Kurt sits as still as possible until the chairs around him empty out, even Finn bailing on him to go look for Rachel or maybe Puck. Once the rest his classmates have disappeared in search of their families Kurt stands up, but before he even reaches the end of the row he feels hands on him, then the sharp burst of pain shooting from his shoulder blades all the way down his thighs.

“Kurt, what...?” Blaine’s voice cuts through the fog in Kurt’s brain, but he can’t focus on anything except keeping his knees from buckling. He wrenches himself out of Blaine’s grip, stumbling forward and sitting down hard in one of the chairs. “Kurt?”

Blaine’s next to him immediately, and Kurt knows it should be comforting, because Blaine’s one of the most important people in his life. Only he’s touching Kurt again, a hand on his arm and sending fresh pain shooting down Kurt’s spine.

“Don’t...don’t touch me,” Kurt gasps, and maybe later he’ll remember to feel guilty about the way Blaine snatches his hand back. “I can’t...”

“Oh my God,” Blaine breathes next to him, hands hovering in the air and Kurt can’t help flinching away. “What’s wrong? Do you need an ambulance?”

“I just need to find my dad,” Kurt answers, taking deep breaths as the pain begins to dull a little. “There’s something wrong with my back, I think. It hurts whenever someone touches me.”

Kurt stands up on shaky legs, flexing his back experimentally, but it doesn’t feel any worse than it did before Blaine touched him. The pain doesn’t flair, anyway, and he scans the crowd to see if he can spot his father or Carole. When that doesn’t work he looks for Finn, thankful for once that he’s a head taller than almost everyone in the room. Kurt spots him near the bleachers, talking to Mr. Schue and probably Rachel, though she’s too short for Kurt to spot her in the crowd.

He thinks about fishing his phone out of his pocket and calling his dad, but there’s no way anyone could hear their phone ringing over the noise in the auditorium. He’s about to try anyway when he spots his dad and Carole on the other side of the room, both of them looking around as though they’re searching for someone. Him and Finn, most likely, since they’re supposed to go to lunch before the graduation parties start.

Kurt scans the crowd to choose the least crowded path to his father, then he braces himself and steps out of the row of chairs. The first brush against his shoulder isn’t that terrible; there’s a brief shock of pain, but it subsides quickly enough. He takes a breath and moves forward, teeth gritted against the next body that jostles him.

This one’s a little worse; his breath catches at the impact, pain flaring between his shoulder blades, and for a second he thinks he’s actually torn something. But there’s no way he could have; he hardly touched the person he ran into, and it certainly couldn’t have done any physical damage.

He takes a few more steps forward, holding his breath as he manages to squeeze past Santana’s family without actually touching any of them. She glances at him as he passes, one eyebrow raised, but Kurt doesn’t even look back at her. Instead he keeps moving forward, focused so completely on getting to his father that he doesn’t spot Brittany until it’s too late.

Her arms wrap around him, voice in his ear squealing her congratulations, and he hears Blaine’s voice and then his own gasp in the moment before the tearing sensation shakes his whole body and his knees give out. Brittany doesn’t let go, then there are more hands on him, and he knows they’re trying to keep him from falling, but all he can think as he blacks out is _let go_.

~

Kurt wakes up on his stomach, face pressed into scratchy fabric that definitely isn’t his 400 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. The sound of slow, steady beeping fills the room, and when he lifts his head and blinks his eyes open he finds himself staring down at an unfamiliar pillow. He attempts to sit up, but something stops him, and the beeping gets a little faster as his heart starts to race.

“Relax, son,” his dad’s voice says, but he sounds anything but relaxed, and that is so not helping. Kurt turns his head in the direction of his father’s voice, squinting at dark circles and the deep lines that mean he’s been frowning for a while now.

“What’s happening? Why can’t I move?”

“You’re in the hospital, son. You...passed out at graduation. Don’t you remember?”

The memories come flooding back all at once; the itching in his back, followed by the sharp bursts of burning pain every time anyone touched him, the look on Blaine’s face when Kurt pulled away from him, and finally the burst of pain in his back that threatened to drown him when Brittany and Blaine both touched him at the same time.

He twists his head to try to catch a glimpse of his back, expecting bandages covering whatever gaping wound must have opened up on his back to make him pass out that way. He catches a glimpse of something white, but he can’t turn far enough to see anything clearly, and finally he gives up and frowns at his father again.

“I don’t understand. Why am I strapped down?”

“The doctors weren’t sure how you’d react,” his dad says, his gaze straying to Kurt’s back before he looks at Kurt’s face again. He lets out a heavy sigh and runs a hand over his face. “Nobody knows how it happened, son, but somehow you’ve got yourself a set of wings.”

~

Wings. _Wings._

He spent half an hour insisting that it was impossible; no one had disagreed with him, but that didn’t make it any less true. When he finally calmed down enough to listen to reason the doctor came in, and Kurt tried to focus long enough to hear the words ‘fully integrated’ and ‘nervous system’ and ‘too dangerous to attempt removal’. 

His case is unprecedented, of course, because he hasn’t already spent enough of his life feeling like a freak, and now that he’s finally at a place where he can leave Lima behind and go somewhere he can feel normal, he has to go and grow a pair of _wings_.

When his father refuses to admit the joke and Carole refuses to stop crying, Kurt demands to see them for himself. The problem is that the addition of wings where previously he’d had a pair of perfectly normal, unmarred shoulders means his center of balance is completely thrown off, and he can’t seem to stand on his own.

He reaches for his father’s hand automatically, but as soon as he makes contact the pain’s back, searing through him all the way from his shoulders to the tips of his...wings. He can _feel_ them, and even though he’s gasping and flopping back down onto his stomach to scream his frustration into the cheap pillowcase, he doesn’t need a mirror to know they’re really there.

In a way it’s worse than seeing them in the mirror, because _feeling_ them means he can’t fool himself into thinking someone’s somehow attached a pair of fake wings onto his back as some kind of cruel, elaborate joke.

He hears his father’s voice, demanding to know what’s happening, why his own son can’t stand to be touched by him, but he already knows there’s no rational answer. No more rational than Kurt suddenly sprouting a pair of wings, anyway, and he breathes through the dull ache as it settles into his shoulders and turns his head to try to catch a glimpse of his father.

“It’s not just you, Dad. It’s everyone. It started this morning and it’s been getting worse ever since. I passed out because Brittany and Blaine both touched me at the same time, and then...” he pauses and gestures weakly toward his back, “...this happened. Apparently.”

“What the hell’s happening to my son, Doc?” Burt demands, and Kurt swallows down the urge to hug him, because he can’t even do that anymore.

“I’m afraid we don’t have any answers for you, Mr. Hummel,” the doctor says. “There are some connective tissue disorders that can cause the skin to be painful to the touch, but what your son’s experiencing seems to be an extreme case. I’d like to run some tests, but I think it’s best if we sedate him so that he doesn’t feel any discomfort.”

Kurt snorts a laugh at the word ‘discomfort’, and when he feels his wings flutter as though they not only understand, but they’re _amused_ , his stomach rolls. He tunes out their voices and burrows further into the pillow, and when he feels the soft brush of feathers as his wings fold down against his back, he squeezes his eyes shut and wishes for sleep.

~

His dad hires the best specialists he can find; he’s a senator now, and apparently that’s a perk of the job or something. Kurt doesn’t pay that much attention to the details, because the fact is that no matter who his dad hires to fly in and poke and prod at him, none of them come up with any answers. They all leave just as bewildered as when they arrive, and none of them has a single suggestion as to how Kurt’s supposed to live a normal life with a pair of wings growing out of his back.

Kurt’s only saving grace is that his father’s refused every single offer to fly Kurt to a research facility in New York or D.C. or anywhere else. Every doctor who sees him wants to take him away, citing better facilities and the kind of brain trust they can’t duplicate in Lima. But his dad’s paraded an entire army of so-called brilliant doctors through his hospital room, and so far most of them seem more interested in getting him in some lab to poke at him than they do in helping him.

The hospital has him doing physical therapy; it’s miserable and frustrating, mostly because no one can touch him without making him scream, but after a couple weeks he manages to take a few steps on his own. After that, finding his balance comes a little easier, and once he’s finally walking more or less on his own they tell him he can go home.

He’s had visitors while he’s been in the hospital. Mercedes comes by as often as she can, and Finn stops by sometimes to bring Kurt fresh clothes and new games for the Nintendo DS Finn lent him to keep him from losing his mind while he’s stuck alone in a hospital room. Brittany even shows up once, tearful and apologetic and led by a fierce-looking Santana. Once Kurt assures her at least a dozen times that it’s not her fault and she didn’t do anything wrong, Santana looks less like she’s planning to tear his wings off with her bare hands.

After that Brittany settles down enough to ask him a bunch of nonsensical questions about whether or not he’s an angel now, and how he’d know if he was. He’s been able to get to the bathroom thanks to the walker the physical therapist provided, so he’s seen his wings. The first time he stood there for as long as he could stand to hold himself up, leaning hard against the sink and staring at the soft white feathers fluttering around his shoulders.

They arched up over his shoulders and stopped just above his waist, and when Kurt focused hard enough he could flap them. The first time he did it he half expected to lift off the floor, but nothing happened, and eventually he managed to make it back to his bed to stretch out on his stomach and stare moodily at the wall.

Blaine comes to visit less often than Finn or Mercedes; the first couple times he just sits in a chair and stares at Kurt’s wings, not saying much of anything until Kurt finally snaps at him to stop treating Kurt like a freak. Blaine flushes when he says it, and Kurt instantly feels guilty. But that’s how it feels, and even when Blaine’s eyes go a little glassy and he says, “it’s just that they’re so...amazing,” Kurt doesn’t really feel any better.

He doesn’t answer, he just watches Blaine’s hands twitch in his lap and wonders how much self-control it’s taking him not to touch.

He’s been stuck in the hospital for nearly two weeks when Blaine touches him again. Kurt’s asleep when he gets there, face pressed into his pillow and dreaming about hands running up and down his wings. He can’t see the person who’s touching him, but the hands feel familiar, and Kurt arches into the touch and gasps at the want curling in his stomach.

Just as quickly, the want turns to searing pain, and he jolts awake with a scream and flinches away from Blaine’s hand where it’s stroking down the ridge of Kurt’s left wing.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Blaine says, his voice panicked and Kurt registers vaguely that he’s backing away from the bed. “I didn’t...you were sleeping, I thought...”

Kurt grits his teeth through the pain and squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back tears because he loves Blaine, he does, and he wants this to be okay. He doesn’t want to have a panic attack every time his boyfriend touches him, for pity’s sake, but he doesn’t want to have to worry about Blaine giving in to temptation in spite of what he knows it’s doing to Kurt, either.

It takes a long time for the pain to subside; no one’s touched him in almost two weeks, and he’d forgotten just how awful it was. When he finally catches his breath he looks up, turning his head to tell Blaine that he’s okay, but Blaine’s already gone.

~

He doesn’t see Blaine again until after the doctors finally let him go home. It’s not that he’s any better -- nothing’s changed at all except that he’s finally learned to balance with the addition of the wings -- but they’ve finally admitted that there’s nothing they can do for him. 

They make him a follow-up appointment anyway, as though they’re going to find something in a month that they haven’t found in the past two weeks of poking and prodding. But it makes his father feel better, so Kurt doesn’t argue when they hand him the little reminder card and then wait while he sits down in the wheelchair and push him out to the hospital entrance. 

Finn’s waiting when they get there, behind the wheel of Kurt’s Navigator, and up until this moment he hasn’t even thought to wonder whether or not he’ll be able to drive with wings. Finn slides out of the driver’s seat and Kurt holds out a hand for the keys, but his father snatches them out of Finn’s hand before Kurt can argue.

“Not so fast, son. One step at a time, okay?”

Kurt frowns, but he stands up gingerly from the wheelchair and crosses to the passenger door. Finn hovers for a moment as though he’s trying to figure out a way to help without actually touching Kurt, but there’s nothing he can do, so in the end he just climbs into the back seat and leaves Kurt to hoist himself into the Navigator and try not to overbalance and fall on his ass.

He manages it with only a couple false starts, and when he finally settles himself in the seat his father swings the door shut from the outside and rounds the front of the car to slide behind the wheel. They don’t talk on the way home, and when they get there Kurt has to figure out a way to climb back out of the car without injuring himself.

It’s frustrating and exhausting, and it’s so _stupid_ , because he’s just getting in and out of his own car. Something he’s done more times than he can count, but now it’s an effort he’d just as soon not repeat. Worse than that, it’s humiliating, and when he finally gets out of the car he glances around to make sure none of the neighbors are watching.

Once he makes it inside Kurt heads straight for his room, kicking his shoes off and dropping the blanket he’s had draped around his shoulders since they left the hospital. He hasn’t worn a shirt since he sprouted wings; Carole claims to be a working on some kind of design for wing holes, but he made her swear she wouldn’t touch his wardrobe until he got home. He crosses to his closet anyway, just to make sure, fingers running over the rows of fabric that he’s not sure he’ll ever wear again.

He can’t bring himself to rip _wing holes_ in any of his designer fashions, but according to the doctors he’s going to spend the rest of his life with them, so he might as well get used to it. Then again, if he’s going to spend the rest of his life with wings, he’s not going to be getting out much, so it doesn’t really matter.

Maybe he can get away with covering them up with some of his baggier jackets, but he’s still going to have to be careful. There’s no way he can have a normal life, and there’s definitely no way he’s going to have a stage career with a pair of wings sticking out of his back. He was already going to have a hard enough time landing the kind of roles that would get him where he wants to be on Broadway, and now…now he’s better suited for a sideshow than the boards.

Kurt scrubs the back of his hand over his eyes when his wings flutter, like the damn things feel _sorry_ for him or something. As though they’re not single-handedly responsible for ruining his life, and that’s just great, because now he’s thinking of them as something living.

That’s better than thinking of them as part of him, though, because as soon as he starts doing that he’s going to have to accept the fact that they’re not going away. He sighs and changes out of the pants his dad brought for him, pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms before he turns off the closet light and heads back into his room to stretch out on his bed. He’s flipping through the latest _Vogue_ without really paying attention to what he’s looking at when he hears the doorbell, then a minute later he hears footsteps on the stairs.

They stop outside his door, and Kurt holds his breath while he waits for it to open. Then they start moving again, down the hall and away, and Kurt lets out the breath he’d been holding. He has no idea who it was and why his heart’s suddenly racing, and when he realizes his wings are fluttering in time with his heart he feels his whole face flush.

Somewhere down the hall a door opens – Finn’s room, Kurt’s almost positive – then he hears the sound of muffled voices. Kurt climbs off the bed and goes to his door, ear pressed against it for a second before he slowly turns the knob. And he’s not sure why he’s bothering, because it’s probably just Puck. Kurt hasn’t seen him since he watched Puck walk across the stage to accept his diploma; he never came to the hospital, and Kurt doesn’t care because he and Puck aren’t really friends.

But something about the way he paused outside Kurt’s door makes Kurt wonder if he _wanted_ to come, if he was worried about Kurt or if he’s just curious about the wings.

Kurt pulls the door open a little and glances out into the hall, but there’s no one there. No Puck lurking around waiting for a glimpse of his wings, not even his stepbrother hanging around looking helpless and miserable. Kurt’s wings droop and he rolls his eyes, reminding them sternly that he’s not disappointed that Puck hasn’t stopped by to see him. He leaves the door ajar anyway, then he crosses back to his bed to stretch out and flip through the same magazine he’s already looked at twice.

He’s not sure how much time passes before he hears the doorbell again, but this time when he hears footsteps outside his door his wings flatten against his back. Kurt frowns and sits up, listening to whoever it is pause for a second or two before they finally knock. His bedroom door swings forward and Kurt catches sight of Blaine, knows he should be glad to see his boyfriend, but mostly he’s just tired.

“Blaine, come in,” he says anyway, suddenly aware of his bare chest and the fact that if he wants to cover up, he’s going to have to use the blanket.

Blaine pushes the door open and takes a few tentative steps into the room, his smile a little sheepish, and Kurt doesn’t have to ask why. “Kurt, hi. I wanted…that is…look, I’m really sorry.”

“I know,” Kurt answers, because he does. He’s known Blaine was sorry since the second it happened, but that doesn’t change the fact that Blaine’s his boyfriend and Kurt can’t ever touch him again.

“I just…this is weird, right? It’s not just me?”

“Blaine, I’ve somehow managed to grow _wings_. Of course it’s weird.”

“No, I mean…” Blaine trails off, flushing and casting a quick, longing glance in the direction of Kurt’s shoulders. “Okay, that’s weird too. But I meant the part where I can’t even touch you. You’re my boyfriend, Kurt. Obviously I want to touch you.”

Kurt flushes at the implication, but it’s not as though they haven’t been intimate, so he knows what Blaine means. “I’m sorry, I don’t…”

“Kurt, it’s okay,” Blaine says, taking a few more steps forward before he freezes, expression stricken and Kurt realizes he’s flinched away from his own boyfriend.

It’s not as though he’s afraid of Blaine. He’s fairly sure Blaine won’t give into temptation again, at any rate, but his wings are still flat against his back, and Kurt’s not altogether sure _they_ trust Blaine not to try again.

“Do you think it’s _all_ contact?” Blaine asks, taking a seat on the edge of the bed a few feet from Kurt, and he has to work hard not to put more distance between them. “Obviously your wings are extremely sensitive, but what about kissing? Or what if you touched me?”

Kurt shakes his head, pulling a little further away without trying to make it obvious that just the thought of being touched is making him nervous. “I tried touching my dad while I was in the hospital and the same thing happened. I just reached for his hand and nearly blacked out.”

Blaine sighs, then he runs a hand through his perfect hair, and Kurt realizes he’s never going to do that again. He’s never going to curve his hand around Blaine’s cheek and lean in to kiss him, never going to take his hand to get his attention while they’re shopping. He’s never even going to sit in a coffee shop with Blaine and talk about the theater or classes or their plans for the future; that’s not the kind of thing he can do anymore, not with a pair of wings fluttering softly behind him.

And the funny thing is that Blaine was worried they wouldn’t be able to make a long distance relationship work, and now that Kurt’s not going anywhere they have less of a chance at a future than ever.

“Maybe you just need some time, you know, to adjust,” Blaine says, his smile back in full force, but Kurt’s known him long enough to know when he’s faking it. “Maybe once you get used to them…”

“Maybe,” Kurt answers, but they both know it’s a lie. His wings flap once, sharp against his shoulders, and Blaine follows the motion with his eyes. “Look, I’m kind of tired…”

“Sure, of course,” Blaine says, standing up and casting one last glance at Kurt’s wings. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

The truth is that all Kurt’s been doing for the past two weeks is resting, and it’s the last thing he wants to do. Mostly he feels like crawling out of his own skin, but he doesn’t want to have this conversation anymore, either. He knows he should break up with Blaine, that he should be selfless and set him free to go back to his normal life with his normal friends.

But he knows what Blaine will say if he tries, so he doesn’t bother. Instead he nods and stands up, following Blaine to his bedroom door at a safe distance. “I’ll call you.”

Blaine nods, then he turns toward Kurt, hand lifting for a second before he remembers and lowers it. Kurt manages not to take a step backwards, but his wings ruffle a little, and he frowns and wills them to flatten against his back. 

He watches Blaine walk down the hall, pausing at the top of the stairs to glance back at Kurt. Except he’s not really looking at Kurt; he’s looking at Kurt’s wings, and Kurt swallows a hard lump of something he can’t name and pushes his door almost all the way closed. He crosses back to his bed, stretching out on his stomach with his hands folded under his head and not even bothering to pretend to read this time.

The tip of his right wing traces along his bare skin, and Kurt gets the strange feeling that the wing’s actually trying to _comfort_ him. It’s ridiculous and infuriating, and he feels hot tears start to form. He’s not even sure what he’s crying about, but he figures the list of potential reasons is long enough that he has a valid excuse.

He hears his bedroom door open and reaches up to scrub at his eyes, frowning and glancing over to watch Puck let himself in. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

“The door was open,” Puck says, shrugging like that’s an open invitation to invade Kurt’s privacy. His gaze wanders over Kurt’s back, taking in his wings where they’re fluttering against him now, stretching out without his permission as though they’re trying to fill up the room.

Kurt sighs and forces them back down, then he pushes himself up on his elbows to look at Puck. “Did you want something?”

“Was that your boy I heard before?” Puck asks, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the stairs.

“Blaine was here, if that’s what you mean,” Kurt answers, frowning as he follows Puck’s gaze. “Though I’m not sure he’s _my_ anything at this point.”

“Why?” Puck asks, his forehead wrinkling as though he’s genuinely confused. “He not down with your new look or something?”

As he says it Puck’s eyes wander to Kurt’s back again, gaze drifting over his wings and then further down, and if Kurt didn’t know better he’d swear Puck was checking him out. But he does know better, so he doesn’t blush as he pushes himself into a sitting position and crosses his arms over his bare chest. His wings are fluttering again, softer now but still there all the same, and Puck watches them move for a second before he swallows and drags his gaze back to Kurt’s face.

“It’s not the view he has a problem with,” Kurt says, then he remembers who he’s talking to and frowns.

“Oh, right, the whole ‘bad touch’ thing. That sucks, dude.” Puck winces sympathetically, and Kurt’s mouth quirks in spite of himself, imagining someone as physical as Puck having to live without human contact. A flash of strong hands on his back -- on his _wings_ \-- appears in his mind and he shivers, then he clamps down hard on the thought and pushes it as far away as it will go.

“Listen, I wanted to come see you while you were in the hospital, but Finn said you didn’t want a bunch of people hanging around.”

Kurt frowns at that, because he doesn’t remember telling Finn any such thing. Not that it matters, because he and Puck aren’t friends, exactly, and there was no reason for him to visit. Just like there’s no reason for him to be hanging around Kurt’s room now, stealing glances at Kurt’s wings as they flutter gently against his shoulders.

“It’s probably just as well. I’m not exactly at my best these days.”

Puck quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t answer, and Kurt’s not sure why, but he feels his face flush. His wings are practically quivering now, and it still doesn’t make any sense, but Kurt has a weird feeling they’re reacting to _Puck_.

“Yeah, well, I gotta bail,” Puck says, gesturing over his shoulder as though that should be all the explanation Kurt needs. Not that he needs to explain himself to Kurt, of all people, but Kurt’s wings seem to disagree. “See you around, Kurt.”

“Sure, see you,” Kurt answers, watching Puck back out of his room. As soon as he’s gone Kurt’s wings stop moving altogether, wilting down to settle against his back, and Kurt rolls his eyes and doesn’t tell them to get over it.

~

“What about gloves?”

It’s the second time Blaine’s come over since Kurt got home from the hospital. He’s perched on the edge of Kurt’s desk chair, elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him as though he needs the reminder to keep them to himself. Maybe he does; there are a million ways they’ve touched each other in the past, even before they were officially dating. The first time Kurt met Blaine they held hands, after all, and in a lot of ways he’s just as tactile as someone like Puck.

He turned up at Kurt’s door with a piece of paper clutched in his hand, grinning and waving it in the air as he announced that they were going to find a solution. Kurt didn’t bother to point out that if the doctors hadn’t found a solution, chances were good that Blaine wasn’t going to. Instead he just swallowed a sigh and stood aside to let Blaine in, then he crossed the room to sit on the edge of his bed, his wings rustling nervously behind him.

“They tried that at the hospital,” Kurt answers, shuddering at the memory. “It didn’t make a difference.”

“Maybe it depends on the type of fabric,” Blaine says, his determined expression still firmly in place. “We could try Neoprene, maybe. It’s thicker than normal fabric, and if it worked you could have a suit made. You’d be like Batman.”

Kurt snorts and reaches up absently to run his fingers along the ridge of his left wing. He watches Blaine’s eyes following the movement, watches the way his throat moves when Kurt’s wing flaps against his shoulder.

“I can’t exactly cover these in Neoprene, can I?”

Blaine frowns, then he shrugs and glances down at his list. When he looks up again his smile’s back, and he taps the list as though he’s come up with a brilliant solution. “So we make Neoprene gloves for other people. Anyone you...you know, _want_ touching your wings, they’d have a pair of gloves to help protect you.”

“Why stop there?” Kurt asks, his wings fluttering erratically as he narrows his eyes at Blaine. “We could sell tickets. We’d probably make a fortune selling the chance to touch the freak.”

“Kurt, come on. You know that’s not what I meant.”

He shakes his head and smoothes his wings down; he’s getting better at making them behave, and when they settle down against his back he takes a deep breath and looks up at Blaine again. “It wouldn’t work anyway. They tried everything at the hospital. Different materials, different people, nothing worked. I can’t even stand to brush my shoulder against another person. You saw what happened at graduation.”

Blaine blows out a frustrated breath, then he sits back in the chair. “I can’t think like this. Let’s go down to the Lima Bean and get some coffee. It’s probably not crowded now, so you don’t have to worry about people accidentally touching you.”

“Are you serious? Oh my God, you are,” Kurt says. “Blaine, I have _wings_. I can’t just go hang out at the Lima Bean like nothing’s changed.”

“We could cover them,” Blaine answers, gripping his list a little tighter, and Kurt’s pretty sure there’s an idea or two on there about how to disguise his wings, too. “You can fold them down pretty flat now, and maybe if we wrapped them...”

“No,” Kurt interrupts, his wings fluttering indignantly at the thought of being tied down. “Even if it worked, there’s no way to guarantee someone wouldn’t accidentally touch me. Besides, I promised my dad.”

It’s true; his dad made him swear he wouldn’t take any chances and risk a repeat of graduation, and Kurt understands why. They don’t know if he blacked out from the pain of having two people touching him at the same time, or if it had something to do with his wings finally pushing through his back. No one knows how he managed to grow wings in the first place, so there’s no way to tell what’s going affect him and how. All he knows is that the last thing he wants is to pass out in public again and end up back in the hospital.

He doesn’t even know if anyone outside the hospital knows about his wings. His father’s a public figure now, so it’s likely only a matter of time before some political enemy gets wind of it and uses Burt Hummel’s freak son against him. Lima’s a small town, and Kurt knows as well as anyone exactly how fast news travels. So he can’t take the chance, no matter how tired he’s getting of rattling around the house alone.

Not that he’s been completely alone. There’s his dad and Carole, of course, Finn too, and Puck’s been hanging around as much as ever. Mercedes still comes by to visit, but she never stays long, and Kurt can’t blame her for not wanting to hang around and watch him brood. It’s weird, being around her and not being able to hug her or grab her arm or her hand, but she’s got Sam for that now, so he supposes she doesn’t miss it.

It’s not her fault that Kurt doesn’t have anyone to turn to for comfort. And he _misses_ it; he had no idea until this happened how many times a day he used to touch other people. He even misses Finn’s giant paw mauling his shoulder in that bizarre, brotherly way of his, and it upsets him more than it should that he won’t even be able to hug Finn goodbye when he leaves for basic training.

Kurt blinks hard against the stinging in his eyes and scrubs a hand across his face. He doesn’t look at Blaine, because the last thing he wants to see is pity.

“You go ahead,” he says, shaking his head when Blaine opens his mouth to argue. “I’m terrible company today anyway.”

Blaine sighs, then he stands up and folds his list before he slides it into his pocket. Kurt watches him nod to himself, as though he’s coming to some kind of decision, then he braces himself for the moment when Blaine tells Kurt he won’t be back. He knows it’s only a matter of time; no one would put up with a boyfriend they can’t even touch for very long, and Kurt’s not selfish enough to expect him to.

But Blaine doesn’t tell Kurt it’s over. Instead he smiles and shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels and looking incredibly young. For the longest time Kurt thought of Blaine as older than him, mainly because he had so much more life experience than Kurt when they met. And he’s only a year younger than Kurt, but right now it feels like there’s decades and miles between them.

“It might not be forever. No one knows, right? They could disappear the same way they grew in the first place.”

Kurt shrugs, feels his wings fluttering softly against his back and wonders what it would be like to wake up without them. He wonders if things would ever go back to normal again, even if they did disappear.

~

He’s not sure how long he spends moping around in his room, ignoring his wings whenever they move without his permission. The doorbell rings at some point after Blaine leaves, and Kurt half expects it to be Blaine coming back with coffee, maybe. But his bedroom door never opens, and when he hears the sound of Puck’s voice his wings flutter almost...hopefully. As though maybe they’re expecting Puck to stop by. As though his wings have a mind of their own, and it just figures they’d develop an inappropriate crush on _Puck_.

Kurt ignores them for as long as he can, but eventually the fluttering gets annoying enough that he sighs and gives up on the book he’s been trying to read. Instead he wanders out of his room, down the stairs into the living room to hover in the doorway and watch Finn and Puck arguing over some video game.

Puck spots him first, and when Kurt’s wings stretch out to their full span his mouth sort of drops open and he hits the pause button without even looking.

“Dude, what the hell?” Finn says, following Puck’s gaze and frowning for a second. “Oh. Hey, Kurt.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s cool,” Puck says, then he gets up and moves over to the couch to sit next to Finn. “You wanna chill for a while?”

Kurt nods and takes the chair Puck’s vacated, flushing when his wings flutter happily against his shoulders. He looks up to find Finn and Puck both watching him; as soon as their eyes meet Finn looks back at the game, but Puck just looks right back at him, watching the movement of his wings as though he’s trying to figure out what it means.

When Finn starts the game again Puck looks away from him, turning his attention back to the TV in time to salvage whatever it is he’s trying to accomplish. Kurt’s never been interested in football, so he doesn’t care about Madden or whatever it is they’re playing, but he stays where he is anyway, watching the electronic players tackle each other in the most violent way possible.

“So have you tried flying yet?”

The sound of Puck’s voice makes Kurt’s wings flap, and he rolls his eyes and focuses until they settle down along his back. 

“Dude,” Finn says, shooting an admonishing look in Puck’s direction.

“What?” Puck asks, frowning right back at Finn. “Don’t act like you haven’t wondered too. What’s the point of having wings if you can’t fly?”

And that’s the whole problem, because Kurt’s wings are completely pointless. He can’t fly – can’t even hover an inch or two off the ground – and he can’t touch anyone. He can’t even wear a shirt, let alone have any kind of life.

“I tried once,” he admits without looking at either of them. “I think they’re too small to support my weight.”

“Maybe you just need some practice,” Puck says. “It took a while to figure out how to walk again, right?”

Kurt shrugs, because he’s got a point, but there’s a difference between adjusting to a new center of balance and figuring out how to defy gravity. “They’re not like bird wings; not the ones that fly, anyway. I’ve read a little and I think they’re more like the kind of wings flightless birds have.”

“They look like the wings on those fat baby angels in all the paintings Gentiles are so into,” Puck says, and when Kurt snorts a laugh, Puck smirks.

“Brittany asked if I was an angel when she and Santana came to visit me in the hospital.”

As soon as he says it Puck looks over at him, eyes sharp and, if Kurt didn’t know better, he’d say surprised. Then he looks at Finn and narrows his eyes a little, but Finn’s still staring at the game as though he’s doing his best to forget they’re both in the room.

“Brit and Santana came to see you?”

Kurt shrugs, his wings giving an agitated little shake at the look on Puck’s face. “Brittany was feeling guilty about what happened at graduation. Santana just tagged along, probably to threaten my life if I didn’t make her feel better. Aside from them it was mostly just Blaine and Mercedes. And Sam, a couple times. They brought Tina and Mike with them once.”

The longer he talks, the more stormy Puck’s expression grows. But he’s not looking at Kurt; he’s still staring at Finn, and now Finn’s jaw is sort of twitching. Kurt looks between the two of them for a moment or two, trying to decide what he’s missing. Puck can’t be that upset at Finn for telling him not to visit while Kurt was in the hospital; it wasn’t as though Kurt expected him to show up, and he certainly wasn’t missing anything.

Still, he seems sort of put out, and Kurt’s wings, at least, seem happy about that. They’re fluttering softly, at any rate, a familiar breeze ruffling Kurt’s hair and making him shiver in the air conditioning. Puck turns to frown at Kurt again, but instead of asking more questions about Kurt’s hospital visitors, he sits up and reaches behind him for the throw they keep on the back of the couch.

“Here,” Puck says, tossing the blanket in Kurt’s direction. He reaches out to catch it, wings flapping to keep him from losing his balance when he leans forward. Puck watches the motion for a few seconds, then he shakes his head and turns back to the video game.

Kurt wraps the blanket around his shoulders and settles back in the chair, squirming a little until he finds a comfortable position for his wings. He thinks about going back to his room, but he’s tired of being by himself all the time. Then there’s the fact that Finn will be leaving for basic training at the end of the summer, and then Puck won’t have a reason to hang around anymore, which means he doesn’t have much more time to spend with either of them.

The thought is more depressing than Kurt expects it to be. He’s not sure when he got used to having Puck around – he’s still not even sure when he got used to having _Finn_ around – but it turns out that he’s not terrible company. So maybe Kurt’s going to miss them both, but it’s only because his world’s gotten so much smaller since his wings appeared.

He’s still brooding when Finn pauses the game this time, then he kicks Puck’s thigh and nods in the direction of the kitchen. “It’s your turn, bro.”

Puck rolls his eyes, but he stands up and reaches for their empty pop cans. He disappears a moment later, and Kurt only realizes he’s still staring in the direction Puck disappeared when Finn clears his throat.

“So what’s up with you?” Finn asks. “You don’t usually hang out with us.”

Kurt shrugs, letting the blanket slide down his shoulders a little. “It’s not as though I have anything else to do. I can’t even go get a cup of coffee thanks to these stupid things.”

“Yeah, that’s rough.” Finn straightens up a little, and Kurt has a feeling he wants to say something else, but before he gets the chance Puck’s walking back into the room, carrying three pops this time. He sets two down on the coffee table, then he steps in front of Finn and hands the third to Kurt.

“Thank you, Puck,” Kurt says, taking the can slowly. He’s careful to avoid touching Puck, fingers wrapped around the cold metal and holding it in both hands while he watches Puck throw himself back down on the couch again. And it doesn’t mean anything; it’s just a Coke, and anyone would have done the same. But Puck’s not exactly known for his social graces, and when Kurt feels his wings flutter under the blanket, he can’t bring himself to disagree with them for once.

~

Carole hasn’t made any headway with the design she’s been working on for a shirt that Kurt can wear around his wings. The problem is that all of her attempts so far have required someone else to help him get the fabric around his wings, and it’s too risky to let someone that close to him and avoid accidentally coming into contact with them.

No one’s touched him since that last time with Blaine, and Kurt doesn’t miss the pain at all. He misses the contact, though, and there’s a part of him that wants to try touching someone, just to see what would happen. But he can’t bring himself to do it, so instead he spends more and more time alone in his room, resenting his wings and trying to figure out what he’s supposed to do with his life now.

Finn and Puck have been spending a lot of time hanging around the house too, and Kurt hasn’t asked, but he has a sneaking suspicion that they’re doing it to keep him company. There’s a part of him that feels guilty about it; it’s Finn’s last summer before he joins the Army, after all, and they should both be out enjoying what’s left of their childhoods. But he’s not selfless enough to say so; instead he pretends he doesn’t know what they’re up to, and when he wanders into the living room to curl up in the chair and watch them play, they never ask what he thinks he’s doing.

He’s huddled under the blanket in his dad’s chair one afternoon when his phone beeps, and Kurt frowns down at a text from Blaine for a second before he opens it. They haven’t spoken much since the last time Blaine stopped by, when he tried to get Kurt to go hang out at the Lima Bean and pretend that nothing’s changed.

“What’s up?” Finn asks, glancing away from the game to raise his eyebrows at Kurt.

“Blaine’s coming over.” He pushes the blanket off his shoulders and sits up, ignoring the irritated rustle of his wings as he climbs out of the chair and heads for the stairs.

There’s no reason for him to leave the living room just because his boyfriend’s stopping by, but for some reason it feels weird to hang around with Finn and Puck and Blaine at the same time. And it shouldn’t, because they were all in Glee together last year, and they all get along fine. But everything’s changed since then; the person he was at the end of the school year barely exists now, and he’s not sure how to _be_ with any of them anymore, let alone all of them at once.

Twenty minutes later he hears the doorbell, then someone’s letting Blaine in. It takes a few minutes before Kurt hears him on the stairs, and he doesn’t know why, but for some reason the idea of Blaine stopping to talk to Finn and Puck bothers him. It shouldn’t; they all know each other, and they’re all still the same people they were before graduation. Kurt’s the one who’s changed here, and it’s not their fault he can’t get used to it.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed when Blaine knocks, then the door opens and he’s flashing a nervous smile that looks out of place on his normally confident features. “Kurt, hi.”

He sounds almost surprised to find Kurt in his own bedroom, and Kurt swallows a laugh at the thought and stands up. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”

Blaine looks surprised, but there’s a flash of guilt too, so maybe he’s just surprised that Kurt actually said it out loud.

“There’s a party tonight. Some of the Warblers are getting together.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, lips pressed together for a moment before he continues. “You can’t tell them about me.”

Blaine opens his mouth, then he shakes his head and sighs and takes a step forward, and Kurt automatically takes a step back. For a second Blaine looks so _sad_ that Kurt wishes he could take it back, but there’s no way he can. Instead he just wraps his arms around his chest, wings curling tight around his shoulders and vibrating unhappily.

“I wouldn’t...” Blaine pauses, then he lets out another sigh and runs his hand through his hair. “You could come with me. There won’t be many people there, I could make sure no one touches you.”

“No, you couldn’t,” Kurt says. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Blaine; he knows Blaine would try his best, but there’s no way either of them could guarantee he’d be safe.

“Maybe you’re right. But you can’t stay in your room for the rest of your life, Kurt. Are you just going to hide out here forever?”

“I’m not hiding out,” Kurt snaps. His wings flap hard against his back once, then again, and Blaine’s eyes go wide. “I know you mean well, but even if I could hide my wings, you have no idea what it’s like when someone touches me. It’s agonizing, Blaine. It feels like…like I’m being burned alive.”

“Okay,” Blaine says, his hands coming up as though he still wants to touch, but when Kurt flinches he lets them fall back to his sides. “But it’s been weeks since we tried. How do you know…?”

As soon as he says it Kurt’s wings pull in close to his back, wrapping around him again, and he takes another step backwards. “I just know.”

Blaine nods, then he drops his head to look down at the floor. When he looks up again he’s smiling, but it’s sad this time, and Kurt digs his fingernails into his palms to hold back the tears.

“I have to go, I told Sebastian I’d swing by and pick him up. Call me if you…just call me.”

Kurt nods and waits until Blaine backs out of the room, then he turns to his bathroom and shuts the door behind him. For a long time he stares at his reflection, looking for any hint that something about his condition has changed. No one’s touched him for weeks, it’s true, and it’s possible he’s not as sensitive anymore. But the doctors still haven’t found any answers, and his wings are still just as present as ever, so Kurt’s not willing to take the risk.

When he’s sure the coast is clear Kurt washes his face and heads back down to the living room, hoping Finn and Puck are still around to distract him. When he gets there Puck’s still sprawled on the couch, but Finn’s nowhere to be found. Kurt makes his way across the room anyway, folding himself into his dad’s chair and letting his wings flutter against his shoulder blades.

“Where’s Finn?”

“His recruiter called,” Puck answers, nodding in the direction of the kitchen. “Probably has more forms for him to fill out.”

Kurt bites back a joke about Finn signing away the rights to his first-born just in time. Considering Finn and Puck’s history, it’s probably not in the best taste, and Puck’s actually been decent to him through all of this. Instead he glances at the TV, watching the paused game flicker for a few seconds.

“I’ve thought about going with him,” Puck says, surprising Kurt into looking over at him again.

“What, into the Army?”

Puck shrugs and looks over his shoulder, like maybe he doesn’t want anyone to overhear him. “Not like I’ve got a whole lot going for me here. Anyway, it’s a paycheck.”

It’s dangerous, is what it is, and Kurt’s not any happier about Finn enlisting than his dad or Carole. The thought of Puck enlisting too…it shouldn’t bother him as much as the thought of Finn getting shipped off to the Middle East, but there it is anyway, a tight ball of dread curling in his stomach. His wings flutter violently, then they curl over his shoulders, stretching in the direction of the couch, and Kurt blushes and wills them back down.

Puck’s watching them move, his gaze following the motion as Kurt fights to get them back under control. And he doesn’t even know what any of it means, but he wishes Puck wasn’t witnessing it all the same. 

“Why’d Blaine bail already?” Puck asks, and Kurt’s grateful enough for the change of subject to answer.

“He had a party to go to. Some of the Warblers are getting together, apparently. He just stopped by to try to convince me to go with him.”

Puck raises an eyebrow at that, glancing over Kurt’s shoulder at his traitorous wings where they’re still curling around his shoulders. “He forget about your secret identity?”

Kurt snorts a laugh, fingers pressed against his mouth to hold in an embarrassing giggle. “He did suggest we try making me a rubber suit. Like Batman,” he adds when Puck’s other eyebrow goes up.

“Shut up.”

Kurt shrugs, and when Puck huffs a soft laugh he smiles a little wider. It feels…good, and he realizes for the first time that he hasn’t really laughed since all this happened.

“What do you wanna bet he and his boys had a song all ready to make you feel better?” Puck says, grinning now. “If Rachel was still in town they would have come up with a mash-up before you even got out of the hospital.”

Kurt’s still laughing when Finn comes back, glancing between them as he pockets his phone. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Kurt answers, but he doesn’t quite manage to wipe the smile off his face as Finn takes his seat and unpauses the game.

For a few minutes the only sound in the room is computer generated gunfire, and Kurt doesn’t understand how Finn can play these kinds of games when he’s about to be shipped off to a war zone. The thought’s enough to wipe the smile off his face, and he lets out a sigh and ignores the way his wings sort of wilt against his back.

“Earth Angel,” Puck says under his breath, and Kurt nearly chokes on a surprised laugh. Puck’s still staring at the TV screen, but his lips are turned up in a smirk, and Kurt’s wings flutter to attention again.

“Broken Wings,” he counters, and Puck snorts and tears his gaze away from the game long enough to grin at him.

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Finn says, and Kurt and Puck laugh again and answer, “Nothing,” at the same time.


	2. Chapter 2

One thing Kurt still hasn’t really gotten used to is sleeping with wings. It’s not that he can’t lie on his back; it’s possible, as long as he gets them folded as closely as he can into his shoulders and doesn’t accidentally turn the wrong way and ruffle his feathers or bend anything in the wrong direction. Lying on his stomach is easier, but they have a tendency to move in his sleep, and he’s woken more than once to what sounds like a flock of birds migrating through his bedroom.

Some nights they manage to behave themselves enough to let him sleep through the night. A few times he’s even managed to forget that they’re there, rubbing his eyes and shaking off a weird dream he can’t remember only to turn over and realize that it wasn’t a dream at all. Usually it happens when he bends his feathers the wrong way, then he spends the rest of the day irritated and trying to reach them to straighten them out again.

But worst of all are the nights he dreams of a faceless person with familiar hands stroking down his wings, fingers sliding through the feathers and along the spot where his wings meet his back. On those nights he wakes up hard and panting, rocking helplessly against his mattress with his wings outstretched and flapping so hard he’d probably be floating off the bed if he was capable of flight.

Those are the nights he doesn’t bother trying to get back to sleep, because he knows from experience that there’s no way he’s going to get his wings to settle down. He’s given in and jerked off a few times, trying to hold onto the memory of those hands on his back and ignoring the way his face burns with shame when he comes. Because he doesn’t even know who he’s fantasizing about, and the chances of anyone ever touching him that way again are nonexistent.

The doctors still haven’t figured out a way to fix him, anyway, and even if he ever does recover from whatever’s wrong with his skin, he’ll still have a pair of wings. He’ll still be a freak, and sure, there are people that would probably appeal to, but he knows better than to hope he’ll find someone who’s willing to put up with them long-term.

He wakes from another dream of hands buried in his wings, panting and hard and _wanting_ so much that tears sting the corners of his eyes. Kurt blinks hard a few times, then he scrubs his hands over his face and reaches for his phone to check the time. It’s just after 2:00, which means he’s got a long, sleepless night ahead of him if he can’t convince his wings to settle down.

They’re fluttering restlessly behind him when he notices that he’s got a new text message, and when he sees Puck’s name in his inbox his wings spread, arching and stretching above his shoulders for a second before they settle against his back again. Kurt blushes and opens the text, and when he reads Puck’s message he grins in the darkness of his bedroom.

_learning 2 fly_

According to his phone, the message was sent just after midnight, which means Puck’s been lying awake thinking up appropriate song titles. It’s more likely he was awake anyway, doing whatever it is Puck does when he’s not hanging around their house, but the fact remains that he not only remembered their conversation, but he thought about it enough to text Kurt just to make him laugh again.

Familiar warmth curls in his stomach, but Kurt ignores it and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Puck’s just being nice, after all, and developing a crush on another straight guy isn’t going to help Kurt’s problem at all.

He lets out a sigh and stands up, phone still gripped in his hand as he pulls open his bedroom door and slips into the hallway. The house is quiet, his whole family fast asleep, and Kurt swallows a pang of jealousy and tiptoes down the stairs to the kitchen to make some warm milk. Chances are it won’t help him relax enough to fall asleep again, but Puck’s text has already distracted his wings from their incessant, restless fluttering, so maybe tonight will be different.

He hums under his breath as he takes the milk out of the fridge, setting it down next to the stove before he reaches for a saucepan. When he realizes he’s singing “Learning to Fly” he blushes, but there’s no one around to catch him smiling to himself, so he doesn’t try to stop it. His phone’s resting on the counter next to the stove, and he glances at it, wondering if it’s overstepping some kind of boundary to text back “Wind Beneath My Wings” at 2:30 in the morning.

He’s not even sure Puck would know the song, but it’s _Bette Midler_. There’s no reason for his musical education to stop just because they’ve graduated, so maybe Kurt would be doing him a favor. He smiles to himself and pours the milk into his favorite mug, then he rinses out the pan and puts it in the dishwasher before he picks up his milk and his phone and heads back to his room.

The house is still silent, and Kurt climbs the stairs slowly, eyes on his phone as he clicks to reply to Puck’s text. He gets as far as _wind ben_ before he reaches the top of the stairs, pausing when he reaches the landing and glancing up. He’s expecting to find the hallway empty, so when he spots someone walking toward him he gasps and takes a step backwards.

Too late he realizes he’s still standing at the top of the stairs, mug gripped in one hand and his phone in the other. He feels himself start to fall, feels his wings flapping uselessly and his heart racing, knows he’s going to land on his wings and he has no idea what will happen if he breaks one of them. The world slows down around him until it feels like he’s falling in slow motion, his mug slipping out of his hand to spill on the stairs in the moment before he feels a hand close around his arm to pull him back up. 

He braces himself for the sharp burst of pain, but it never comes. He’s breathless and his heart’s pounding harder than ever, wings beating hard against his shoulders and he barely registers that it’s Puck standing in front of him before Puck says, “Shit, dude, I’m sorry,” and lets go of him. Kurt registers vaguely that his eyes are wide and panicked, hands up in a gesture of surrender, and he knows it’s because Puck’s expecting Kurt to scream or cry or double over in pain.

Kurt expects it too, but another second passes without pain, and when his wings flap again he feels himself moving forward. He reaches for Puck without thinking, catching one of Puck’s hands and gripping hard when Puck tries to pull away. He holds on, waiting for the pain to kick in, eyes wide when all he feels is a weird calming sensation settling in his chest.

“Kurt? Are you...what’s happening?”

“It didn’t hurt,” Kurt says, and he knows he sounds breathless, but he can’t make himself care. “When you touched me, it didn’t hurt. It still doesn’t hurt.”

He drops his phone and reaches for Puck with his other hand, sliding it up his arm and gripping his shoulder. They’re still...well, sort of holding hands, and Kurt drags Puck’s hand toward him and presses it against his chest. When he lets go Puck doesn’t pull it away; instead he slides his fingers along Kurt’s bare skin, thumb dipping into the hollow of his collarbone and Kurt bites his lip against the shiver that rolls through him.

He should be embarrassed that he’s standing at the top of the stairs basically petting Noah Puckerman, but he’s too shocked to care. It’s been a month since anyone touched him, even longer since he could do it without wanting to die, so he hopes Puck will overlook the fact that Kurt’s fingers are stroking along the side of his neck.

“It really doesn’t hurt?” Puck says, voice sort of awed, and he’s still touching Kurt too, so he can’t mind that much. “Do you think you’re cured?”

“I don’t know.” Kurt’s wings flutter as he says it, reminding him that regardless of whether or not he can touch other people, he’s still got a very obvious problem. Still, the thought of not having to be so careful all the time makes him want to cry with relief, and he knows there’s only one way to find out for sure.

“I need to touch someone else,” Kurt says, wings giving an agitated little flutter at the thought. Puck’s hand wraps around his neck automatically, and just like that his wings settle down again. Kurt frowns and glances down the stairs toward his dad and Carole’s room, but he doesn’t want to wake them in the middle of the night and scare them for no reason. He doesn’t want to get his dad’s hopes up that he’s getting better, not if this is all just a fluke.

“Come on,” Kurt says, decision made, and he catches Puck’s hand to drag him down the hall toward Finn’s room.

He’s weirdly reluctant to let go of Puck’s hand when they get there, and when he does manage to pull away his wings flutter as though in protest. Kurt flushes, grateful for the darkness in the room as he crosses to Finn’s bed and kicks the mattress. “Wake up.”

Finn grunts and blinks his eyes open, reaching up to rub a hand over his face. “Kurt? What time is it?”

“You need to wake up,” Kurt says, his stomach clenching at the thought of what he’s about to do. “I need you to touch me.”

“What?” Finn sits up, glancing from Kurt to Puck as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. “You want me to...what?”

Kurt lets out a sigh, wings flapping once as he struggles not to lose his patience. Then a hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes, and instantly the tension in Kurt’s stomach uncoils. His wings flutter one more time before they settle against his back, and he swallows hard when he realizes they’re responding to Puck’s touch.

“Dude, I touched him by accident and it didn’t hurt him,” Puck says. Finn’s gaze strays to Kurt’s shoulder where Puck’s hand is still resting, eyes going wide and Puck pulls his hand away. Kurt’s mouth opens to protest before he realizes what he’s doing, and he snaps his mouth shut and presses his lips together.

“So...what? You’re cured or something?” Finn asks, standing up and taking a couple steps forward.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I need to try it with someone else and see what happens.”

“Okay,” Finn says, then he blows out a breath and runs his hands through his hair. He blinks and then focuses on Puck again, eyes narrowing suddenly. “How’d you ‘accidentally’ touch him in the middle of the night?”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Kurt answers when he feels Puck tense behind him, his wings fluttering as though they’re picking up on Puck’s agitation. “I almost fell down the stairs. He caught me.”

Finn looks like he wants to ask more questions, like maybe what they were doing hanging out at the top of the stairs at 2:30 in the morning, but he doesn’t. Instead he steps forward, stopping a foot away from Kurt and taking another deep breath.

“So what do you want me to do?”

He looks nervous, and Kurt can’t really blame him, because Finn hasn’t actually seen anyone touch Kurt since all this happened, but he’s heard the stories from Kurt’s dad and Carole and probably their friends. Kurt’s nervous too, because he remembers exactly how much it hurt when he last touched his dad, when Blaine touched his wing and he woke up screaming. He remembers the overwhelming pain when Brittany and Blaine touched him at the same time, and he doesn’t want to relive that.

But Puck’s touched him a few times now, and it hasn’t hurt once. It’s felt _good_ , and Kurt’s fairly sure it’s not just because he hasn’t been touched at all for so long. There’s only one way to find out, though, so he takes a deep breath and steps forward.

“Just...here,” he says, then he reaches out and rests his hand on Finn’s forearm.

The pain hits him instantly, knocking the breath out of him and shooting through his entire body. He jerks back away from Finn, his knees giving out, and he feels himself start to fall for the second time that night. Then Puck’s hands are on him again, closing around his biceps and holding him up, and just like that the pain starts to fade.

He doesn’t even realize he’s turning into Puck, letting himself be dragged forward and pressing his forehead against Puck’s shoulder until the burning in the center of his back is completely gone. There’s a hand on his hip, another one wrapped around his neck and holding him close, and Puck’s not touching his wings at all, but Kurt finds himself wishing he would.

“Okay, not cured,” he mumbles against Puck’s shoulder, and his heart’s still pounding, but he forces himself to straighten up anyway.

When he looks over at Finn his eyes are wide, staring at Kurt and Puck, and that’s when he realizes Puck’s arms are still more or less wrapped around him. Kurt clears his throat and forces himself to pull out of Puck’s grip, ignoring the vaguely bereft feeling that settles in the center of his chest.

“I don’t get it,” Finn says, still staring at Kurt as though he’s just now noticing for the first time that Kurt’s got wings. “How come he can touch you and I can’t?”

“How would I know?” Kurt snaps, but his wings betray him by fluttering a little, arching up and away from his shoulders, as though they’re reaching out for Puck. “None of this makes any sense at all.”

Nothing about Kurt’s life makes sense anymore, least of all the fact that Puck, of all people, is the only one who can touch him. He can’t even let himself think about the way Puck’s touch makes him feel, the warmth and comfort and the way the pain bled away the second Puck reached for him. He doesn’t want to think about it -- can’t afford to think about it -- and he’s definitely not thinking about the fact that Puck doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah, but what does it mean?” Finn asks, and Kurt rolls his eyes and looks over his shoulder at Puck.

He’s just standing there, sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a thin t-shirt stretched across his chest, watching Kurt as though he’s waiting for the answer. Only Kurt doesn’t have any answers, and it feels somehow as though he’s letting Puck down. “I don’t know.”

“Shouldn’t we tell somebody? I can go wake up Mom...”

“There’s no point in dragging them out of bed,” Kurt says, dragging his gaze away from Puck to look at Finn. “I’ll talk to Dad in the morning. It’s probably just some quirk of body chemistry or something.”

It’s the most logical explanation, but Kurt doesn’t believe it. When he steals another glance at Puck he can see that Puck doesn’t believe it either, but he doesn’t say anything. They all know there’s nothing they can do about it now, and as soon as he tells his dad Kurt’s pretty sure he’ll end up right back at the hospital. He lets out a sigh and takes a couple steps forward, stopping when he’s shoulder to shoulder with Puck.

“Go back to sleep,” he says without looking back at Finn. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

“Hey,” Puck says, then his hand is on Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt has to close his eyes and breathe in deep. “You sure you’re okay?”

Kurt nods, eyes still closed and he knows Finn’s watching them, but he doesn’t stop himself from reaching up to cover Puck’s hand with his own. He means it to be reassuring, but his wings are fluttering hopefully, and his fingers slide between Puck’s without his permission. He’s holding Puck’s hand again, and Puck’s _letting_ him, right in front of Finn, and that’s not even the weirdest thing about Kurt’s life. He lets out a shaky laugh and opens his eyes, glancing over at Puck and managing a smile.

“I haven’t said thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Puck answers, his voice low and a little rough, and Kurt swallows hard against the sound and forces himself to walk away.

~

He spends a restless night perched on the edge of his desk chair, scouring the internet for any sign that someone else out there has been through what he’s experiencing. In the end all he comes up with is a lot of fan fiction and some fairly ridiculous porn, and when he finally gives up and heads down to the kitchen his eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot.

“...I’m telling you,” Finn’s saying as he walks into the room, all eyes turning toward Kurt. “There he is. Show them.”

Kurt flinches at the thought of Finn touching him again, but before he can say so Puck’s pushing his chair back and standing up. As soon as Kurt looks at him he relaxes, and when he realizes he’s practically swooning at the sight of Puck, he realizes just how screwed he is.

“You...uh...dropped your phone last night,” Puck says, then he holds Kurt’s phone out for him, and Kurt doesn’t even think about it before he reaches out to take it. His fingers curl around Puck’s, sliding along warm skin and lingering far longer than he should while his entire family’s watching them.

Finally he remembers himself and pulls away, flushing and shoving his phone into his pocket. “Thank you.”

“Son, what...”

“I don’t know,” Kurt answers, glancing at his dad and shrugging before he takes a seat at the table and reaches for a cup of coffee. Except that he’s starting to think he might kind of know; he has a few theories, at least, but every one of them sounds crazier than the last, and he can’t tell his father that he thinks his _wings_ might have a crush on Puck.

Not that he can blame them. Puck’s always been attractive, and now that they’ve become something approaching friends, Kurt can appreciate him for more than just his looks. He’s funny, for one thing; he’s the only person who’s made Kurt laugh since all this started, and he’s managed to talk about Kurt’s situation without making Kurt feel like a complete freak.

Then there’s the way it feels when Puck touches him, warm and solid and comforting, as though Puck can tell exactly what Kurt needs and he doesn’t even have to think twice about giving it to him. It’s a lot to ask from someone who barely counted as a friend a couple months ago, but Kurt already knows he’s not strong enough to give it up.

“I better call the doctor,” his dad says, and Kurt knew that was coming, so he just nods and takes a sip of coffee. “Maybe something’s changed with your...condition.”

“They’re going to want to see Puck too,” Kurt answers, mainly because he knows it’s pointless to try to change his dad’s mind. “They’ll probably want to see if there’s anything abnormal about his physiology that makes it safe to touch him.”

“That’s a decision Puck will have to make,” his dad says, but before he even gets the words out, Puck’s talking.

“I’ll go,” he says, and when Kurt looks over at him, Puck’s looking right back. “They’re not going to hurt you more, are they?”

Kurt shrugs, because he doesn’t want to lie to Puck, but his wings are flapping against his shoulders and he knows it’s because of the way Puck’s looking at him. “They try not to.”

He can tell by the way Puck frowns at him that it’s not the answer he wanted to hear, but it’s the only one Kurt’s got. It’s not like he can promise that some of the tests won’t hurt; they’ll probably want to do some controlled experiments, and even when they knocked him out the last time, he usually woke up sore.

For a second he considers telling Puck that it will be better if he’s there, but he can’t say so in front of his family without it sounding like...well, pretty much exactly what it is. Besides, he’s fairly sure Puck already knows; there’s no way he could have missed the effect his touch has on Kurt, especially after their experiment with Finn last night.

Puck looks at him for another long moment, then he nods as though he can tell what Kurt’s thinking, and frankly, at this point Kurt wouldn’t be surprised if Puck could read his mind. 

“I’ll go,” he says again, and Kurt manages to stop himself from reaching across the table and taking Puck’s hand, but there’s nothing he can do about the way his wings flutter.

~

Six hours later they’re sitting side by side on an exam table, wearing matching hospital gowns and waiting for another round of medical professionals to come in and poke at them. Kurt’s grateful that no one’s tried to separate them yet; having Puck there really does make him feel better, even if all he’s doing is brushing his shoulder against Kurt’s every so often.

“Wind Beneath My Wings,” Kurt says suddenly, his voice too loud in the quiet of the exam room.

“What?”

“That’s what I was texting to you when I nearly fell down the stairs last night. “Wind Beneath My Wings”? Bette Midler. It’s a classic.”

Puck snorts, then he nods and presses his shoulder a little harder against Kurt’s. “Good one. That’s probably the one Rachel would have gone with.”

Kurt nods, because of _course_ that’s the song Rachel would have chosen. Blaine would probably go for something more contemporary, maybe with a rap in it somewhere. But he isn’t thinking about Blaine right now, not while he’s sitting shoulder to shoulder with Puck, his wings fluttering so quickly they sound a bit like they’re humming.

The exam room door opens and Kurt feels himself tense, then Puck’s hand presses against his on the edge of the table, fingers pushing under Kurt’s to slide between his and squeeze. The touch makes his wings settle down, and he expects Puck to let go when the doctor looks up at them, but he’s not sorry when Puck doesn’t.

“So?” Puck says, glaring at the doctor, and Kurt tightens his grip on Puck’s hand just a little more.

“We’d like to see how you respond to some external stimulus,” the doctor says, looking right at Kurt. “Everything seems unchanged, but we’d like to be sure. It will mean spending the night.”

Kurt nods, his wings shuddering with the shaky breath he lets out. He knows what they mean by ‘external stimulus’; they’re going to sedate him and poke around at him some more, touch him while he’s unconscious and can’t scream. Just the thought makes him want to run, but he knows it’s the only way to be sure that he’s really not getting better. 

It’s the only way to tell if there’s something about Puck specifically, and Kurt needs to know for sure, one way or the other.

“Does he mean...” Puck asks, turning into Kurt and speaking low, and Kurt fights back a shudder at the feeling of Puck’s breath on his cheek.

He nods and casts a glance at the doctor, but he’s back to scratching notes on Kurt’s chart. “It’s the only way to tell for sure.”

“Then I’m staying too,” Puck says.

“That’s not necessary, Mr. Puckerman,” the doctor answers, glancing up from his notes to raise an eyebrow at Kurt. “There’s nothing about your physiology to suggest there’s any reason Kurt wouldn’t be sensitive to your particular touch.”

“All I know is it hurts him less if I touch him while somebody else does,” Puck says, and Kurt’s heart skips a beat at the confirmation that Puck knows the effect he has on Kurt. He knows and he’s staying anyway, and Kurt has no idea how to feel about that.

The doctor raises an eyebrow, then he makes another note on his chart before he nods. “If that’s the case, we’d prefer it if you did stay. We’d like to measure your response as well.”

He leaves without another word, and once they’re alone again Kurt glances over at Puck. “You don’t have to do this.”

For a second Puck just looks at him, then he shakes his head and lets go of Kurt’s hand. “I’m in this too, right? I mean, until we figure out if I’m really the only one who can touch you.”

Kurt nods, ignoring the urge to reach over and grab Puck’s hand again. He feels his wings stretch a little, the tips of his feathers brushing Puck’s back for a second before he realizes what he’s doing and pulls them back. His whole face flushes and he looks down at his hand where it’s gripping the edge of the table hard.

“Kurt...” Puck says, voice impossibly lower, and Kurt’s wings betray him yet again by fluttering at the sound of Puck’s voice. He feels Puck leaning closer, shoulder warm against Kurt’s, and Kurt takes a deep breath and summons the courage to look up at him.

Puck’s eyes are darker than Kurt’s ever seen them, and he has just a second to wonder if Puck’s actually going to kiss him before the door opens again and a too-cheerful woman in pink scrubs walks in.

“I’m just going to get your IV started, hon,” she says, smiling at Kurt as though he’s not blushing the same color as her scrubs, and Kurt doesn’t even try to talk her out of it, because at this point he thinks he’d rather be sedated for a while.

~

When he wakes up it’s dark in the room, and he’s pressed against something warm and solid. At first he thinks he must be face-down on the hospital bed, but when he shifts he discovers that he’s lying on his side, and whatever he’s pressed against is breathing on his cheek.

Kurt pushes himself up just enough to look at Puck, at his slack expression and the way his head’s tilted into Kurt. Puck’s hand is resting on the small of his back, just barely brushing the bottom of his feathers, and Kurt’s wings flap a couple times, slow and lazy. Contented, he thinks, his heart clenching even though he knows better than to believe it.

It’s just because he hasn’t been close to anyone in so long; he’s missed this, missed warm arms around him and smooth skin under his fingers. When he realizes he’s tracing the line of Puck’s jaw he pulls his hand away, but as soon as he stops touching Puck opens his eyes.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Kurt says, glad for the darkness in the room when he feels himself flush. “What…?”

“You were shaking in your sleep,” Puck says without bothering to wait for Kurt to finish his question. “It stopped when I got in with you. I can move if you want.”

Kurt knows he should say yes, that Puck should go back to his own bed where it’s safe. But Puck doesn’t look all that put out about the fact that Kurt’s cuddled against him. His hand is moving on Kurt’s back now, stroking in little circles that make Kurt’s breath stutter.

“No,” he says before he can stop himself, then he flushes even hotter. “That is, you don’t have to. If you’re comfortable.”

Puck shrugs against the mattress, the motion dragging Kurt a little closer. He feels Puck’s hand brush the bottom of his feathers again, and he struggles to suppress a shudder. “I figured maybe you kind of missed it.”

“Missed what?” Kurt asks, but when he tenses, Puck sighs and tightens his grip around Kurt’s waist.

“Relax. I mean, I know I’m not your first choice here, but I don’t mind.”

He wants to ask what it is that Puck doesn’t mind, exactly; if it’s being second choice, or touching Kurt like this in the first place. But he doesn’t ask, because he has a feeling if he does, Puck will tell him. Besides, he’s not sore at all in spite of whatever tests they did while he was out, so for once he’s going to take what Puck’s offering and worry about the consequences later.

For awhile they just lie there, Puck’s hand moving on Kurt’s back and Kurt’s cheek pressed against Puck’s shoulder. It should be strange, sharing a narrow hospital bed with Puck when they’re both still dressed in hospital gowns, but mostly it feels...right. His wings seem to think so, anyway, because they’ve settled against his shoulders, fluttering softly whenever Puck’s knuckles brush the line of his feathers.

“They do that to you last time too?” Puck asks, his voice quiet in the stillness of the room, and Kurt doesn’t have to ask what he means.

“I don’t remember any of it,” Kurt says. “All I know is that when I woke up I ached all over, and they still didn’t have any answers for me.”

The hand on his back stills, fingers brushing his bare skin under the gown. “What about this time? I mean, does it still hurt?”

Kurt shakes his head against Puck’s shoulder, rough cotton brushing his cheek, and he finds himself wishing he could feel Puck’s skin. “No. I feel okay this time.”

Puck doesn’t answer right away, and Kurt assumes that’s the end of the conversation until Puck’s hand starts moving again. “Why do you think that is? I mean, how come it stops hurting when you’re touching me?”

“That’s what all those tests are supposed to tell us,” Kurt answers, though he has a feeling Puck knows as well as he does that they’re not going to get any answers no matter how many tests they run.

Puck’s hand leaves his back, then he’s shifting on the mattress and Kurt thinks he’s going to get up and go back to his own bed. But Puck just shifts onto his side until they’re face to face, one hand on Kurt’s hip and the other reaching up to slide through his hair.

“They’re not doing that to you anymore. I don’t care if we never figure it out; you’re not going through that shit again.”

The fierceness in his voice makes Kurt tremble, and he reaches up before he can stop himself and curves his hand around Puck’s cheek. For a moment he just looks, and when he sees the fear in Puck’s eyes his heart clenches. “You could feel it. Even when I was unconscious, you could feel it.”

“Yeah,” Puck answers, voice ragged, and Kurt’s heart pounds too hard in his chest. “Not, like, what you were feeling or whatever. It was like I could feel that you could feel it, you know?”

Kurt nods and doesn’t stop himself from pulling Puck forward, wrapping his arms around Puck’s neck and holding on. He still doesn’t know what’s happening to them, but whatever it is, it’s affecting Puck just as much as it is him.

“It fucking sucked,” Puck murmurs into his hair, arm tight around Kurt’s waist like maybe he’s afraid to let go.

Instead of answering Kurt just holds on tighter, his fingers sort of petting the back of Puck’s head until he relaxes. Puck’s right about one thing; he has missed this, missed being close to someone this way. But the thing is, he had no idea until right now that the thing he’d been missing was Puck, and now that he’s figured it out he has no idea what to do about it.

~

When he wakes up again Puck’s arm is still draped over his waist, face pressed into Kurt’s neck and breathing against his skin. It feels just as right as it did the night before, and that’s the best reason he can think of to get up right now. Except in order to do that he’d have to turn onto his back, and his wings are fluttering so wildly at the thought of moving away from Puck that he can’t do it without hurting them.

It’s not just his wings that are reluctant to leave the warmth of Puck’s side. Kurt’s always known that Puck was attractive, but he’s never given it much thought. There was never any point, because Puck’s straight, and even if he’s not as straight as previously assumed, Kurt has a boyfriend.

Or at least he did, but Blaine can’t even touch him anymore. Puck, on the other hand…Puck can touch him, and what’s more, Puck seems to _want_ to touch him. Kurt’s still not sure if it’s pity or just the weird connection they seem to have developed, but there’s no denying that it’s there. He knows he should be horrified that he’s developed a connection with _Puck_ , but the truth is he could think of worse options.

He doesn’t realize he’s stroking the side of Puck’s face until the door to their room opens, and Kurt looks up in time to watch an orderly wheel a breakfast tray into the room. If he thinks it’s weird that they’re wrapped up in the same bed together he doesn’t let on; he just sets two trays of breakfast down and looks at Kurt.

“Scrambled eggs and fruit salad. A nurse will come by soon to check your vitals, then they’ll let your family take you home. Enjoy your breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Kurt says, watching until the door swings shut behind the orderly before he turns back to Puck.

Puck’s looking back at him, eyes dark and his lips parted, just a little. Kurt knows how easy it would be to lean in and kiss him, thinks Puck would probably even let him. But he still doesn’t know if it would be pity or something else, and anyway he still technically has a boyfriend.

“Breakfast,” he says, stupidly, but Puck just says, “yeah,” and reaches up to push Kurt’s bangs off his forehead.

His fingers are warm on Kurt’s skin, soft and gentle and Kurt’s wings flutter and try to stretch out. Puck watches them move for a few moments, then his gaze shifts back to Kurt’s face. “So…”

That’s as far as he gets before the door opens again, and when Kurt looks up this time he finds himself looking back at his father. Kurt blushes and scrambles backwards, wings flapping wildly when he starts to slide off the narrow bed. An arm slides around his waist to pull him to safety, tightening just for a second, then Puck lets go of him and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“Hey, Mr. H. I’m gonna go get dressed,” Puck says, and Kurt narrows his eyes and doesn’t call him a coward. Instead he sits up carefully, wings still fluttering against his hospital gown as he turns to face his dad.

“So how long’s that been going on?” his dad asks, glancing in the direction of the bathroom where Puck’s hiding.

“It’s not what you think. At least I don’t think it is. I don’t know, Dad; we only figured out he could touch me two days ago.”

“Sure looks like something’s going on from here,” his dad says, but he doesn’t really look that surprised about it.

Kurt doesn’t bother to argue, because there’s no point. Instead he slides off the bed, reaching for his pants and sliding them on before he takes off his hospital gown. “So did the doctors say anything?”

Burt shakes his head, his gaze straying to Kurt’s wings. “Not much. We’ll talk about it when we get home.”

He hears the way his father hesitates, but he doesn’t press for answers. It’s still a lot to take in, after all, and he can only assume it’s even more confusing for the one person who knows him better than anyone else. For most of his life it’s been just him and his dad, and knowing that he can’t even touch his own son anymore has to be weird. 

Kurt’s wings certainly don’t make any sense, so there’s no reason this thing with Puck would be any more logical. He knows his dad’s been hoping for some medical explanation – an obscure disease, some condition with a name that no one’s seen for years – so there’s a chance of curing him. But the more time Kurt spends close to Puck, the more he can _feel_ the connection between them, and he’s fairly sure that’s the kind of thing that can’t be measured with the hospital’s tests.

He knows he should be more frustrated about the lack of answers, but the truth is that he feels calmer than he has since graduation. Part of it is the fact that he got a decent night’s sleep for the first time in ages, and he’s pretty sure that has something to do with the fact that he spent the night with Puck wrapped around him. His wings flutter softly at his back, and Kurt glances over his shoulder in time to watch the bathroom door open and Puck step out.

“I’ve got some papers to sign,” his dad says, and Kurt blushes and turns away from Puck to face him. “I’ll see you two in a few minutes.”

“Hey,” Puck says once he’s gone, and if Kurt weren’t already blushing, the way his wings react to the sound of Puck’s voice would do the trick.

Puck watches them flutter happily, then they stretch to nearly their full width and flap once, and Kurt rolls his eyes, because it’s obvious they’re showing off for Puck’s benefit. It’s bizarre and completely humiliating, but it’s not as though Kurt has any control over them whenever Puck’s around.

“Has anybody ever touched them?”

“Just the doctors, while I was unconscious." Kurt pauses and glances toward the door, making sure his father hasn’t reappeared before he continues. "And Blaine, once. I was asleep and I guess he thought I wouldn't feel it."

When he ventures another glance at Puck his eyes are narrow, dark and stormy and his fists are clenched at his sides. Kurt knows he shouldn’t find anything about it attractive, because he doesn’t find jealousy appealing, and he certainly doesn’t get off on violence.

“He wasn’t trying to hurt me,” Kurt says anyway, voice soft, and he’s not sure if he’s defending Blaine or trying to soothe Puck. “It was back when I was still in the hospital and it was all still new.”

Puck nods, then he takes a deep breath and unclenches his fists. “So you don't even know how it feels?”

“I have these dreams, sometimes,” Kurt answers, but his wings are fluttering a little more frantically now, and it’s hard to focus on the conversation when all he can think about is Puck touching his wings. “I can never see who it is, but in my dreams he touches my wings and it feels...”

“What?”

 _Fantastic_ , Kurt thinks, and _amazing_ , then _erotic_ , before he finally settles on, “Nice,” which doesn't even begin to describe it.

“Well if you want to see if the real thing lives up to the fantasy, I'm game.”

Kurt’s eyes go wide at that, cheeks blazing and his dick certainly thinks it’s a good idea. “You mean...I can't ask you to do that, Puck.”

He’s not even sure why he says it, because Puck’s looking at his wings like he’s dying of thirst and they’re made out of water. But there’s no way Puck could know what a turn-on the thought of someone else – of Puck – touching his wings is. If he knew he’d never offer; they might be connected somehow, but there’s no connection deep enough to change someone’s sexuality.

“Look, I get that maybe you’re wishing it was somebody else standing here,” Puck says, looking away for a second and swallowing, and Kurt’s wings do their best to shove him forward into Puck. He manages to hold his ground, but he feels himself sway on his feet, and when Puck looks up Kurt knows he hasn’t missed it. “But I'm what you're stuck with for now.”

“It’s not...” Kurt stops himself before he can say anything stupid like _it’s not that I don’t want you to touch me_. It sounds way too much like admitting that he _does_ want Puck’s hands on him, that maybe there was a time when Puck wouldn’t have been first or even second choice, but now that he’s the only choice, Kurt finds he doesn’t hate the idea. “You don't mind?”

“Are you kidding?”

The sound of his voice sends a shiver all the way through Kurt, from the roots of his hair all the way to the tips of his wings. His whole body shudders with it, wings flapping to keep him standing and when Puck reaches for him, Kurt’s breath catches in his throat. A hand slides up his bare arm, curving around his neck as Puck steps closer, and Kurt’s gotten used to not being able to wear a shirt, but now that Puck’s _looking_ at him, he feels completely exposed.

Kurt’s been half-hard since he woke up with Puck pressed against him. He’s only human, after all, and there’s no denying that Puck’s attractive. He’s been trying not to think about it, because it’s not Puck’s fault they’ve found themselves in this situation, but as soon as Puck starts talking about his wings, Kurt knows he’s in trouble.

He knows he should put a stop to it, because Puck hasn’t even gotten close to touching his wings yet and already Kurt’s breathing hard, blushing all the way down his chest and there’s no way to hide what he’s feeling. There’s no way Puck doesn’t know what he’s doing to Kurt, either, and the fact that he’s still doing it is the most confusing part of all.

“Puck...” he says, hand coming up to curl around Puck’s wrist, and he’s not even sure if he’s planning to pull Puck’s hand away or just hold him there as long as possible. But a second later it doesn’t matter, because the door swings open and Kurt blushes even harder and takes a step backwards.

The nurse glances at them as she walks in, her smile a little confused, and Kurt can’t really blame her, because there’s nothing about the situation that’s not confusing.

~

He expects Puck to disappear as soon as they get back to the house, so he’s not disappointed when that’s exactly what happens. Puck doesn’t live with them, after all, in spite of the fact that he’s been acting like it for most of the summer, and he probably has other things to do besides hang around their house and wait for Kurt to humiliate himself some more.

So it’s no surprise when Puck mumbles something about going home as soon as they pull into the driveway, then takes off without so much as a glance in Kurt’s direction. Kurt tries not to look put out about it, but his dad keeps casting knowing glances at him as they make their way inside, so Kurt has a feeling he’s not fooling anyone.

And it’s not as though he expected Puck to come inside and follow him up to his room, to shut the door and pick up where they left off in the hospital. Except it turns out that’s what he was hoping for, and his wings droop under the blanket he wrapped around his shoulders for the ride home. 

He’s not an idiot, so he can guess why Puck left as quickly as he did. It’s one thing to be caught up in the moment – one thing to react to the magnetic pull between them and the novelty of being the only person in the world who can touch Kurt without causing him physical pain – but it’s another thing entirely to realize exactly how turned on Kurt was at the mere thought of Puck touching his wings.

It’s not Puck’s fault he freaked out; Kurt’s been expecting it since the first moment on the stairs when Puck grabbed him without thinking, and he’s just glad it happened now, before things got too far out of hand. He tells himself he believes that and follows his dad into the house, but when he turns toward the stairs his father clears his throat to stop him.

“There are some things we need to talk about, son.”

Kurt sighs and turns away from the stairs, watching his father turn and head into the kitchen as though he expects Kurt to follow. His stomach clenches the same way it did when he was a junior and his dad sat him down for the most embarrassing sex talk of all time, but he follows his father and takes a seat at the kitchen table.

For a few minutes his father ignores him to fuss with the coffee pot, and Kurt has the urge to get up and shove him out of the way so he can make the coffee himself. Except that he can’t even give his dad an affectionate shove anymore, and Kurt swallows against a hard lump of _something_ and blinks a few times.

By the time his father finally pours two cups of coffee and sits down across from him, Kurt’s managed to stop feeling like he’s going to cry, anyway, and he wraps his hands around the hot mug his father slides across the table. “Thanks.”

His dad nods, hands wrapped around his own cup and just looking at Kurt for a long moment. When Kurt’s wings flutter nervously behind him, his dad follows the motion with his eyes, then he clears his throat and shifts in his chair.

“How are you feeling?”

Kurt shrugs and lifts his coffee, blowing on it for a few seconds before he risks a sip. It burns the tip of his tongue, and he pushes it against the back of his teeth to feel the pain spike. “What’s this about, Dad? What did the doctor say?”

“They still don’t know what’s causing all this,” his dad answers, letting out a heavy sigh and glancing at Kurt’s wings again. “But there were some differences last night. Mainly involving Puckerman.”

Kurt nods, because that much, at least, is obvious. “So do they know why Puck can touch me?”

“No, nothing like that,” his dad says, shifting again, and Kurt flashes back to the first time his dad tried to talk to him about sex. Except there’s no pamphlet to cover a set of wings or an unexplainable connection to someone who, until recently, wasn’t even really a friend. “All they could tell was that it was…better, when you were together. You were calmer, I guess. Less agitated, the doctor said. Your blood pressure doesn’t spike when someone else touches you while he’s…with you.”

His dad stops talking, looking away like he’s as embarrassed by this entire situation as Kurt. Only he can’t possibly be, because Kurt’s the one who suddenly finds himself dependent on _Puck_ , of all people.

“The doctor thinks it’s a good idea if Puckerman comes to stay here for awhile. He seems to think it might help you get better.”

And okay, he isn’t expecting _that_. He’s definitely not expecting his dad to go along with it, especially considering he walked in on Puck curled around Kurt in a hospital bed not two hours ago. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Whatever it is that’s happening to you…I just want you to be okay. If having Puckerman around helps with that, I’m not going to say no. Can’t say I’m crazy about the idea of him moving in, but I talked to him last night after they finished all their tests, and he seems to want to be here.”

Kurt thinks back to the way Puck disappeared into the bathroom the second his dad showed up in their hospital room, then the way he’d mumbled and barely looked at Kurt when he left Kurt alone with his dad. He feels himself blush as he realizes that Puck wasn’t trying to get away from him; he’d already agreed to _move in_ , and chances are he didn’t mention it to Kurt because he knew Kurt’s dad wanted to talk to him first.

“Look, son, if you don’t want him here…” his dad says, almost hopeful, and Kurt blinks and shakes his head before he can stop himself.

“No, I…that is, it does help, having him here.” He blushes an even darker shade of red, and suddenly this feels _exactly_ like one of his dad’s humiliating sex talks. “But it’s not…there’s nothing going on between us, Dad.”

It’s obvious his father still doesn’t believe him. Kurt can’t even blame him, considering. The truth is Kurt’s not even sure he believes it anymore, not after waking up with Puck pressed against him this morning, and then seeing the look on Puck’s face when he offered to touch Kurt’s wings.

“You’re an adult now, Kurt,” his dad says in that way that tells Kurt it’s killing him to admit it. “You’ve been through a hell of a lot in the past few weeks, and if this makes it easier to deal with…”

His dad trails off with a shrug, then he pushes back from the table to carry his mostly untouched coffee over to the sink. “Whatever it is that’s going on between you two, the doctor thinks it might be important. I’m not going to stand in the way of that.”

Kurt nods, and he’s still blushing, but he manages a mostly convincing smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I love you, son. You know that.”

“I know,” Kurt answers, thinks about getting up and hugging his dad, then he remembers and swallows hard. “I’m kind of tired, I think I’m going to go lie down for awhile.”

His dad nods, and Kurt stands up and smiles at him again before he lets himself out of the kitchen and heads for the stairs. But the truth is he’s anything but tired; he’s _too_ awake, and every time he remembers the feeling of Puck’s hands on him, he shivers all over again. 

And the thing is, he doesn’t want any of this; he didn’t want wings, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life worrying about what happens if the wrong person touches him, and he definitely didn’t want to find himself dependent on Puck.

Before all this happened his life wasn’t perfect, but it was certainly more simple. Just two months ago the worst thing that had happened to him was not getting into NYADA. It was disappointing, but in a way he was okay with it, because it meant he had more time with Blaine and his dad. He had more time to prepare himself for the idea of giving up everything he knew and moving to New York, where the city could just as easily swallow him up as let him shine.

He had a plan, had a boyfriend and a goal and he and Blaine were going to make it happen together. 

Now...now all he’s got is Puck, and he’s not even sure how Puck feels about it. He doesn’t know what Puck’s plans were before all this happened, and if finding himself in this situation has ruined them. Then again, if Puck’s been toying with the idea of enlisting along with Finn, maybe he doesn’t even have a plan.

The thought of Puck enlisting makes his stomach twist, wings agitated and rustling against his shoulders to let him know they don’t like the idea either, just in case he hasn’t already figured it out. Kurt lets out a bitter laugh and sits down on the edge of his bed, kicking his shoes off and just catching himself before he flops backwards onto the mattress and hurts his wings.

He rolls his eyes at himself, because honestly, he should be used to them by now, then he folds them as tightly against his back as he can before he settles carefully onto the bed. He’s not sure how long he lies there, staring up at the ceiling and pretending he’s not wondering what Puck’s doing. 

Carole stops by to try to convince him to eat lunch at some point, but just the thought of food makes his stomach turn. And he feels guilty, because he doesn’t want to worry Carole or his dad, but the thought of sitting at the table with them pretending to be okay is too much. Because he’s not okay, and he might not ever be okay again, no matter how much they want him to be.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes to the sound of the doorbell. His wings are still trapped under him, and Kurt winces and sits up when they try to flutter. He’s frowning and trying to reach behind himself to straighten out a few bent feathers when he hears footsteps on the stairs, and he looks up in time to watch Puck stop in his doorway.

“Hey,” Puck says, and if Kurt didn’t know better he’d think Puck was nervous. He’s carrying a duffel bag, and when he takes a couple steps into Kurt’s room and sets it down, Kurt’s heart starts to flutter in time with his wings.

“I thought you went home.”

“Yeah, figured I should grab a shower and some clean clothes,” Puck answers, glancing toward his bag before he looks up at Kurt again. “Your dad said it was cool if I crashed here for a while. I guess whatever tests they ran last night said that you’re less stressed or whatever if I’m around.”

‘Stressed’ isn’t the word Kurt would choose, but whatever the doctors said to his dad, Kurt’s relieved to see Puck. The tightness in his chest lifts, at any rate, and he feels his wings flexing over his shoulders, curving toward Puck like the traitors they are. Puck notices too, his eyebrows raising in surprise before he crosses the room to sit down next to Kurt.

“Puck,” Kurt says, fighting to keep his wings to himself even as his hand reaches over to brush against Puck’s, “you don’t have to...that is, I’m sure you have better things to do than keep me company. Not that you’re not welcome, it’s just...I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

Puck shakes his head, his hand turning under Kurt’s to slide their fingers together. And it’s still weird, holding hands with Puck like that’s something they do, but it feels too good to let go.

“Truth is I don’t really have anything else going on.”

Kurt swallows a sigh and tells himself he wasn’t expecting anything different. If Puck’s only here because he doesn’t have anything better to do, at least he’s _here_ , and when he lets go of Kurt’s hand and reaches out to press a hand to Kurt’s hip, Kurt holds his breath and lets Puck turn him until his back’s to Puck.

The first touch is tentative, as though Puck’s still afraid he’s going to hurt Kurt. But as soon as Puck’s fingers brush his skin Kurt’s whole body feels warm, and he can’t stop the sigh that escapes his lips or the way his wings flutter in response to the touch.

His hands are on Kurt’s shoulders, smoothing along his skin and rubbing at the tension in the base of his neck. Kurt sighs again and lets his head fall forward, ignoring the warmth that pools in the pit of his stomach and focusing on Puck’s hands as they slide down the center of his back.

One hand rests against the bare skin at the juncture of Kurt’s shoulder blades, just above the spot where his wings meet his back. Kurt’s breath catches in his throat, and when he feels Puck shift behind him his wings flutter in anticipation.

“Ready?” Puck asks, voice rough, and the sound makes the warmth in Kurt’s stomach coil even tighter.

Kurt nods and curls his hands into fists, pressing his knuckles into his thighs to keep himself from reacting when Puck touches his wings for the first time. At first it’s just his thumbs, sliding along the juncture between Kurt’s wings and his shoulders. He expects the spot to be sensitive, but he’s not prepared for the electric jolt that shoots through him. When he dreams about this it’s all sort of hazy and warm, and he always wakes up flushed and hard, but he can’t really remember any of the details.

All he knows is that the hands always feel familiar, but up to now it’s never dawned on him that the touch feels familiar because it belongs to _Puck_. 

Of course he knows what Puck’s hands feel like on him; he’s felt them often enough, but they haven’t always felt like this. They haven’t always been gentle, stroking along the arc of his wings with both hands, fingers light as though maybe he’s afraid to press too hard and hurt Kurt. But that’s the last thing on Kurt’s mind, because every bit of focus he has is concentrated on trying not to react.

“Okay?” Puck asks, voice closer to his ear than Kurt expects, and all he can do is nod and clench his fists a little tighter.

Puck lets go and Kurt takes a breath, slow and hitching as he tries to keep himself from losing it completely and doing something embarrassing like crying. For a second he thinks Puck’s done already, that his curiosity’s been satisfied and any second he’ll get up and leave again. Except he’s already invited himself to stay, and Kurt still doesn’t know what that means.

Then Puck’s hands are back, fingers gentle as they work on straightening out the bent feathers Kurt had been trying to reach when he walked in. “Does this happen a lot?”

Kurt shakes his head, taking another breath before he answers. “Not if I’m careful. Most of the time I can reach them myself.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got me now,” Puck says, fingers still carefully working the feathers back into place.

He wants to ask what Puck means by that. Wants to know what Puck’s offering here, if he even knows what he’s saying or if this is just his misguided way of trying to be nice. But Puck’s fingers are smoothing through his feathers in long strokes now, slow and careful and Kurt can’t do anything but breathe through it and hope Puck doesn’t notice how turned on he is.

Neither of them hears the footsteps on the stairs, or the sound of someone stopping in Kurt’s doorway. He’s not even sure how long Blaine stands there watching them, but when he says, “Kurt?” in that hurt, confused voice, Kurt gasps and looks up.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, but he can’t control the way his wings flutter in agitation when Puck’s hands disappear. “What are you doing here?”

“I tried calling,” Blaine says, eyes still glued to Kurt’s wings where they’re arching hopefully in Puck’s direction.

Kurt spares a guilty thought for his phone, still buried somewhere in the bag he hasn’t touched since he got home from the hospital. He’s been checking it less and less lately, mainly because most of his friends have stopped calling, and the one person he does want to talk to is already here. Only it’s not Blaine, and Kurt’s not sure when that happened.

“I was back in the hospital,” Kurt says, gaze sliding toward Puck before he catches himself and looks at Blaine again. “They wanted to run some more tests.”

“So you can be touched now?” Blaine asks, and he looks hopeful, but there’s accusation in his voice. “When were you going to tell me?”

Kurt shakes his head, but before he can answer, he hears Puck’s voice. “It’s just me, dude. They can’t figure out why.”

He doesn’t offer to leave, doesn’t excuse himself to give Kurt and Blaine a little privacy. Maybe it doesn’t even occur to him, but when Kurt steals a glance at his profile he sees the set of Puck’s jaw, tight in a way he hasn’t seen in a long time, and he thinks maybe Puck’s staying put on purpose.

“Are you sure?” Blaine asks, glancing from Puck back to Kurt, and it’s obvious he doesn’t believe it. 

“We tried an experiment with Finn,” Kurt answers. “Then they did some more tests at the hospital. Nothing’s changed.”

“Except this,” Blaine says, gesturing toward Puck, and Kurt winces at the hurt look on his face. “How do you know it wouldn’t work for us, too? We haven’t even tried since...”

Blaine winces at the memory, and Kurt feels Puck tense next to him. His wings are fluttering again, feathers ruffling and even with Blaine standing there staring at him, he can’t help remembering the way Puck’s fingers felt when they smoothed through his feathers.

Then Puck’s hand lands on his back, thumb stroking over the spot just between his wing joints, and Kurt has to fight to keep his eyes open. “No,” Puck says, leaning toward him, and Kurt frowns in spite of the distracting warmth of Puck’s fingers on his back. “We said no more.”

“He has a right to know for sure,” Kurt answers, turning away from Blaine long enough to look at Puck. Kurt’s not even sure how he knows that touching Blaine will have the same effect it did the last time, but he can see that Puck knows it too.

For a few beats Puck just stares back at him, forehead furrowed and his jaw set in that same stubborn line Kurt’s seen a million times. For years he thought it was just Puck’s idea of looking tough, but thanks to three years of New Directions, he’s learned that it means Puck’s scared.

He wants to reach out and curl his fingers around Puck’s jaw, smooth his forehead with a thumb until Puck relaxes. But he can’t do it with Blaine standing there watching; their relationship might be over after this, but he deserves better than that.

Instead he takes a breath and stands up, arms crossed over his chest and shivering a little as he stops in front of Blaine. Puck’s still sitting on the edge of his bed, scowl firmly in place and Kurt’s wings twitch with the need to reach out for him. He manages to resist the urge, then he turns to look at Blaine again.

“You know it’s going to hurt him,” Puck says, and it’s not a question.

As soon as he says it the color drains from Blaine’s face, his expression miserable as he takes a step backwards. “Kurt...”

Kurt rolls his eyes, because sure, it hurts, but it’s just a little pain. He’s been through it before and it hasn’t killed him. Then again, he hasn’t had Puck to think about before, Puck who can somehow feel how much it hurts him when someone else touches him. He takes a deep breath anyway and steps forward, reaching out before he can talk himself out of it and touching Blaine’s cheek.

The pain shoots through him in a wave, starting in his back and moving down his legs and up his chest until he feels like he’s on fire from the inside. He feels his knees give out, hears Blaine saying his name and then a growl from somewhere on his left before Puck’s hands are on him. He catches Kurt before he hits the floor, arms wrapping around him and dragging Kurt into his chest to press his forehead to Puck’s shoulder and fight to catch his breath.

It’s becoming a familiar sensation, being held this way by Puck, and Kurt wonders idly how many times they went through this last night when he wasn’t even conscious. Then he remembers that Blaine’s still standing there watching Puck _hold_ him, and he forces himself to straighten up and take a step backwards. 

Moving is harder than he expects it to be; his legs feel like they’re made of lead, and he can tell that he’s going to be sore later. Maybe it’s because they just spent an entire night in the hospital with the doctors experimenting on them, or maybe it’s the fact that it’s Blaine. Either way he can see that the damage is done, and when Blaine takes a step toward the door, Kurt doesn’t try to stop him.

“I’m sorry, Kurt,” Blaine says, and Kurt just nods, because there’s nothing else to say. They’re both sorry, but there’s nothing anyone can do to change it, and it’s almost a relief when Blaine turns around and walks out.

He’s still standing in the middle of the room when he feels Puck’s hands on him again, arms sliding around his shoulders to drag him close and it’s not until Kurt notices the dampness of Puck’s shirt under his cheek that he realizes he’s crying.

“You okay?” Puck mumbles into his hair, and Kurt sniffs and pulls back to wipe at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“No, of course I’m not okay,” Kurt answers, and it’s not fair, because it’s not Puck’s fault, but he doesn’t try to take it back. “I have _wings_ , Puck. I can barely leave the house, let alone go to school, even if I hadn’t been rejected from NYADA. I can kiss any dreams of a Broadway career goodbye, unless there’s a sudden demand for freaks with a useless set of wings.”

As soon as he says it one of Puck’s hands lands on his right wing, soothing the feathers back into place. They’ve been fluttering behind Kurt while he spoke, but the second Puck touches them they settle down. He sighs and leans forward to press his forehead against Puck’s shoulder again, fingers curled in the fabric of his t-shirt.

“And the worst part is that somehow I dragged you into all of this with me. I’m sorry, Puck, I…I don’t even know how it happened.”

“That’s the worst part, huh?” Puck asks, defensive, and Kurt’s wings flutter even harder in distress. And that’s just great, because Puck’s the only thing he’s got, and he’s even managing to screw that up. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Kurt says, lifting his head off Puck’s shoulder and giving in to the urge to reach out and curl a hand around Puck’s cheek. “I’m…glad you’re here. But you didn’t sign up for this, and I can’t expect you to stick around forever.”

 _Forever._ Kurt could be stuck like this forever, saddled with an inconvenient pair of wings and an even more inconvenient aversion to the touch of anyone except the person standing in front of him. And he likes Puck, enjoys his company even though they don’t really have that much in common, but he can’t expect more than friendship. He’s not even sure if he wants that, but his wings flutter hopefully at the thought, and when Puck grins his heart does a somersault.

“Yeah, well, like I said, I don’t really have anything better to do,” Puck answers. He pulls Kurt close again, one hand still stroking his feathers and the other pressed against the small of his back. “And you’re not a freak, dude. At least no more than the rest of us.”

Kurt laughs against his shoulder, because of all the people he’d ever expect comfort from, Puck’s pretty far down on the list. At least he was, up until two days ago, but Kurt’s starting to accept that none of his assumptions apply anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner is weird, mainly due to the fact that it’s so _normal_. Well, except for the part where Finn spends the entire meal staring at Puck like he’s the one with wings, but other than that, it all feels almost…natural. Like Puck belongs there, and as hard as he tries to convince himself it’s just because Puck’s been hanging around so much all summer, Kurt knows it’s not true.

They spend the rest of the night hanging out in the living room with Finn, Kurt in his usual spot while they take turns killing each other in more and more violent ways in the game. But it feels different somehow, maybe because Kurt’s fairly sure that Puck plans on spending the night in his room instead of Finn’s. That’s where his things are, anyway, still sitting on the floor next to Kurt’s desk as though they belong there.

As though _he_ belongs here, and the fact that his dad’s allowing it isn’t even the weirdest part.

They stay up later than normal, until all three of them are yawning and fighting to keep their eyes open. None of them wants to be the first to suggest they get some sleep, but it has to happen sometime, so finally Kurt stands up and stretches his wings and announces that he’s going to bed.

When he glances toward the couch Puck’s eyes are on him, watching his wings unfurl and flap silently against his shoulders. Kurt blushes and pulls them back in, then he crosses the living room and heads for the stairs without waiting to see if Puck’s going to follow.

Instead he brushes his teeth and washes his face, then he changes into a clean pair of pajama bottoms. When he opens the bathroom door Puck’s standing next to his bed, duffel bag sitting on the edge and rifling through the contents. Kurt glances toward his bedroom door to find Finn standing there, and when Puck notices he turns to look at Finn too.

“Dude, what?”

“Nothing,” Finn answers. “Just…see you tomorrow, I guess.”

Kurt understands how strange this must be for him. He knows Finn’s not a hundred percent comfortable with Kurt being gay, though he’s made pretty amazing strides in the past two years. But it has to be a bit of a shock to see Kurt and Puck together, and even though nothing’s going on aside from a lot of heavy petting, it probably looks pretty suspicious from the outside.

It looks a little weird from where Kurt’s standing, too, and he laughs to himself before he can stop it. Thankfully Finn’s already gone, which means Puck’s the only one around to look at him like maybe he’s starting to lose it. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Kurt answers, watching Puck pull sweatpants and his toothbrush out of his bag before he adds, “it’s just that I can’t imagine you ever expected to find yourself sharing a bed with me.”

Puck looks down at his bag again, frowning at it for a few moments as though it’s offended him somehow. When he looks up again his shoulders are tense, and Kurt’s wings flutter unhappily. 

“Yeah, I guess,” is all Puck says, then he crosses the room and shuts himself in Kurt’s bathroom.

Kurt knows it was the wrong thing to say, but he doesn’t know _why_. He has a feeling Finn might, and it’s tempting to head down the hall and ask him. But he’s not sure Finn will tell him the truth, and things are already weird enough without dragging his stepbrother into it.

Instead he crosses the room and shuts the door, leaning against it for a few seconds with his forehead pressed against cool wood. He has no idea what he’s doing, why he can’t just tell Puck to go sleep on Finn’s floor like he usually does. It would be better for both of them if he did, but he knows he’s not going to.

The bathroom door opens and he turns around, swallowing hard at the sight of Puck in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants. They ride low on his hips, Puck’s abs on full display and Kurt blinks and drags his gaze up to Puck’s face. His eyes are dark, and when he reaches down and pulls the covers back, Kurt flushes and shuts off the light.

His legs feel like lead, and he’s not sure he can make them carry him all the way across the room. Then Puck slides between the sheets and looks over at him again, and Kurt’s wings flap so wildly they actually propel him forward. He feels his face burning and he’s glad he turned off the light so Puck won’t see. He finds himself next to the bed without any real idea how he got there, and when Puck pulls the sheet back for him Kurt sits down hard on the edge of the mattress.

And he’s not some virgin, but it would almost be easier if this was about sex. If he knew what Puck wanted from him, but Kurt still has no idea why he’s even here.

He stretches out on the cool sheets, rolling onto his stomach and tucking one arm under his pillow. He turns to face Puck, heart skipping a beat when he finds Puck propped up on one elbow and watching him. Just... _looking_ , as though he thinks Kurt’s worth looking at.

Finally he stretches out on his back, and Kurt’s not sure whether he’s disappointed or relieved that Puck’s not planning to touch him. Then a hand slides across the space between them, catching Kurt’s hand where it’s resting on the mattress, and when Puck slides their fingers together Kurt doesn’t ask what he thinks he’s doing. He doesn’t want to admit how much he wants Puck to touch him, but somehow Puck seems to know anyway.

Kurt should be embarrassed at how transparent he is. How _needy_ he is, but he’s tired and he feels guilty about Blaine and he can’t bring himself to care if Puck knows how much he needs this. So he curls his fingers around Puck’s hand and holds on, and when Puck squeezes back, Kurt lets himself believe it means something.

~

When he wakes up the bed’s empty, and Kurt sits up in time to watch the bathroom door open. Puck’s wearing a pair of jeans and a black belt, chest bare and running a towel over his mohawk. When he spots Kurt he drops the towel over his shoulder, then he crosses to his bag to fish out a shirt.

“Where are you going?” Kurt blurts out, cringing as soon as the words escape him. Because it’s none of his business what Puck does with his time, but the thought of him leaving without so much as a goodbye makes his wings flutter anxiously.

“Finn has to swing by the recruiter to sign those papers. I said I’d go with.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, though what he thinks is, _don’t go_. He doesn’t want Puck anywhere near the recruiter, not if he’s still thinking about signing papers of his own. But he doesn’t have any right to ask that of Puck, so he keeps his mouth shut and watches Puck pull his McKinley Football shirt over his head.

“You okay?” Puck asks once he’s dressed, and Kurt flushes when he realizes he’s been staring.

“Of course,” Kurt lies, because it’s not like Puck can do anything about it. Kurt doesn’t have the right to ask him to stay, and he can’t invite himself along, no matter how much he might want to. Instead he stands up, intent on shutting himself in the bathroom until Puck and Finn are long gone.

He’s halfway there when a hand closes around his arm, and Kurt lets himself be pulled backwards. Puck’s free hand lands on his wing, stroking along the ridge before he digs his fingers into the feathers and carefully straightens a few that must have gotten ruffled in his sleep.

When Puck’s done he lets go, hands dropping to his sides and Kurt has to close his eyes for a moment before he speaks. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” Puck says, and this time when Kurt walks away, Puck lets him go.

When Kurt gets out of the shower Puck’s gone, but his bag’s still sitting on Kurt’s floor, so that means he’ll be back eventually. Kurt’s wings flutter restlessly at the thought, but he forces them back down and crosses to his dresser to pull out a couple drawers. Considering half his wardrobe has been rendered obsolete by his wings, Kurt figures the least he can do is consolidate some space and give Puck somewhere besides a duffel bag to store his clothes.

Not that he’s asked for space or even hinted at how long he’s staying, but even if it’s just for a few days, the least Kurt can do is try to be a good host. It gives him something to do, anyway, and by the time he hears the front door, he’s not only emptied a drawer for Puck, but rearranged his entire closet.

When he hears footsteps on the stairs Kurt’s pulse picks up speed, and he’s trying to figure out how to look like he’s not waiting for Puck when he finally appears in the doorway. He’s holding a cup Kurt recognizes instantly from the Lima Bean, and when Puck grins and crosses the room to hand it over, Kurt’s jaw drops.

“You brought me coffee?”

Puck shrugs, then his grin turns sort of sheepish, and Kurt has to remind himself that he’s not allowed to lean forward and kiss him. “I heard you bitching to Finn the other day about not being able to go out for your fix anymore.”

Kurt looks down at the cup wrapped in his hands, breathing in the tell-tales scents of coffee and chocolate. “Is this…? How did you know my order?”

“I just described you to the guy behind the counter and he knew exactly who I was talking about. I think that’s a sign of a serious addiction, dude.”

Kurt laughs, lifting the cup to hide his pleased smile as he takes a tentative sip. He hasn’t had a decent mocha since the last time Mercedes came by, bearing gifts to soften the blow of having to say goodbye without even being able to hug him. A sob catches Kurt by surprise, and he presses his hand to his mouth and closes his eyes.

“Kurt? Shit,” Puck says, then his hands are on Kurt, touching his face and then his neck. “Did I fuck up your order or something?”

“No,” Kurt answers, drawing a shaky breath and pressing forward into Puck’s warmth. He doesn’t even think about what he’s doing, but when Puck’s arms go around him to pull him close, Kurt figures he doesn’t mind. “This was surprisingly thoughtful of you, Puck. Thanks.”

“It’s just coffee,” Puck says, but he doesn’t let go. Kurt sniffs against his shoulder again, then he lifts his head far enough to look at Puck.

“I cleared out the top drawer of the dresser for you. If you’re staying awhile I thought it would be easier than living out of a gym bag.”

“Yeah?” Puck says, glancing toward the dresser in question before he turns back to smile at Kurt. “Thanks.”

“It’s just a drawer,” Kurt says, blushing when Puck huffs a soft laugh. 

His wings flutter and Puck glances at them, one hand coming up to brush the spot where they meet his back. Kurt bites his lip at the sensation, willing his body not to react to the combination of Puck’s hands on him and the warmth of his body pressed against Kurt. It’s a losing battle, but when Puck’s other hand slides into his hair and he leans in a little, Kurt forgets to care.

He forgets about the coffee clutched in his hand, forgets about everything he’s lost in the past two months, and he even forgets to wonder why Puck’s doing this. All he knows is that Puck’s about to kiss him, and there’s no way in the world Kurt’s going to stop him.

Which is exactly the reason his stepbrother chooses that moment to shout down the hall.

“Hey, you guys want to order a pizza or something? Oh,” Finn says, and Kurt glances toward the door to find him standing there.

Puck swears under his breath and lets go of Kurt, taking a deep breath before he turns to look at Finn. “Yeah, sure, dude. Just give me a couple minutes.”

“Yeah, okay,” Finn answers, but he doesn’t move from the doorway. Instead he stands there watching Puck pick his bag up off the floor and drop it on the bed, pulling a stack of t-shirts out and carrying them across the room to the dresser.

For a moment Kurt stands there watching them both, but when he realizes Finn’s not going to leave them alone again he rolls his eyes and slides past Finn into the hall. “Fine, I’ll call. But don’t complain when all you get is vegetables.”

It takes a second for his words to penetrate whatever stupor Finn’s fallen into, but when he finally realizes what Kurt’s said he turns away from the sight of Puck moving into Kurt’s room. “Wait, what? Kurt, wait up,” he calls, hurrying down the stairs to catch Kurt before he gets to the menu drawer.

Kurt digs the menu for the pizza place out of the drawer and hands it over, then he leans against the counter and sips his mocha while he listens to Finn order two large pizzas with half a cow and an entire pig on them. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t complain, mostly because he knows that soon enough he’s not going to have to fight Finn for the right to choose the toppings anymore.

Everyone’s moving on, it seems, and Kurt…he’s stuck in Lima with an incurable medical condition and no real prospects for any kind of future. That is, unless he wants to join the circus. At least it would be performing, he thinks, frowning down at his coffee until Finn hangs up the phone.

“Why did you tell Puck not to visit me in the hospital?”

Finn looks up, eyes going wide, then he glances over his shoulder to make sure Puck’s not lurking in the doorway. “He told you that?”

“At the time he thought I’d asked you to.”

Finn has the grace to blush, at least, then he sighs and crosses the room to pull a soda out of the fridge. “Come on, bro, you know how Puck is.”

Kurt frowns, because he really doesn’t. Before graduation he hadn’t paid much attention, and now…the Puck he’s gotten to know over the past few weeks is nothing like the one he expected.

“And how is that, exactly?”

“He gets, like, obsessed.” Finn glances toward the door to make sure the coast is still clear, then he sinks into a chair and looks up at Kurt. “I know I was pissed about the whole Quinn thing for a long time, but he’s still my best friend. When he thinks he’s in love or whatever he goes all in. It’s like an obsession. Look how long he put up with Lauren’s bullshit.”

Kurt wasn’t paying much attention to Puck then either, but he vaguely remembers Puck following Lauren around, looking more like a big, dumb puppy than the bully Kurt thought he knew and loathed.

“So you’re saying Puck thinks he’s in love…with _me_?”

Kurt expects a laugh, maybe a ‘don’t be crazy, dude’ or a ‘Puck’s not gay’. But all he gets is a shrug, then Finn’s glancing over his shoulder again before he turns back and lowers his voice. 

“All I know is he started asking a lot of questions as soon as you landed in the hospital. I just thought it would be a bad idea to encourage him or whatever. You’re with Blaine, and you’d probably never go for a guy like Puck anyway, and I just didn’t want him getting his heart broken and doing something stupid.”

“Like joining the Army,” Kurt says before he even realizes he’s thinking it, and when Finn winces he knows it’s true.

“He told you about that, too, huh? You guys sure have been talking a lot.”

“That’s _all_ we’ve been doing, not that it’s any of your business,” Kurt says, raising an eyebrow when Finn opens his mouth to protest. Except it’s not exactly true, and Kurt’s almost positive that if Finn hadn’t interrupted them earlier, they wouldn’t be doing much talking right now.

Then again, maybe they _should_ do some more talking, because Kurt’s still not convinced that all of this isn’t some weird shared delusion brought on by Kurt’s wings. They flutter indignantly at the thought, but Kurt rolls his eyes and ignores them.

Before Finn comes up with a reply they hear Puck’s footsteps on the stairs, and it shouldn’t matter, because he’s the same person Kurt left in his bedroom ten minutes ago. He’s the same person Kurt shared a bed with last night, and the night before that, but somehow knowing that Puck has feelings for him makes a difference.

His heart races when Puck walks into the kitchen, and he clutches the coffee cup to his chest and hopes he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. When Puck grins at him his wings flap against the sink, and his whole face flushes when Puck laughs.

“Dude, we playing or what?” Puck asks, dragging his gaze away from Kurt long enough to look at Finn.

“Yeah, okay,” Finn says, but he’s still glancing between Puck and Kurt like he’s trying to figure out if he’s interrupting something.

Puck just snorts another laugh and heads for the fridge, helping himself to a Coke before he follows Finn into the living room. When they get there Finn starts to claim his spot on the couch, but Puck kicks his shin and nods toward the chair where Kurt usually sits. Finn frowns but moves over, then Puck holds out a hand for Kurt and pulls him down onto the couch.

It’s a little strange, curling against Puck’s side to watch them play, cuddled up against him as though they’re...something. Then again, they _are_ something, even if neither of them has admitted it yet. He can feel it every time Puck touches him, feels the energy pulsing under his skin and the thrum of the connection between them. He’s pretty sure Puck can feel it too, that he felt it yesterday when Blaine touched him and that he feels it now, even when they’re just pressed together on the couch.

They spend the whole afternoon that way, Kurt curled against him and watching while they play. By the time his dad and Carole get home to make dinner the energy’s practically humming in his veins, and it seems like the most natural thing in the world to lean over and kiss Puck. He stops himself just in time, mainly because Finn’s been looking pretty confused all afternoon, and Kurt doesn’t want to short-circuit his brain and render him unable to serve his country.

He has no idea how he makes it through dinner. He doesn’t remember what movie they settle on that evening, either; all he remembers is being relegated to his chair so more people can sit on the couch than just him and Puck, and the weird looks his dad casts in his direction when his wings flutter every time Puck laughs.

They spend the whole night hanging out with Kurt’s family, and the weird thing is that it feels normal. It feels as though Puck belongs here, and not just because he’s been Finn’s best friend for as long as Kurt’s known them. It doesn’t even feel that strange to say goodnight to his dad and his stepmom and go upstairs with Puck, even though they all know he won’t be spending the night on Finn’s floor.

Kurt’s stomach flutters at the thought – his wings too – and he blushes when he catches Puck smirking at him. A hand lands in the center of his back, stroking the skin just below his wings, and Kurt gasps before he can stop himself. When they get to his room Kurt expects Puck to shut the door and pull him close, but instead he lets go of Kurt and heads for his drawer to pull out a pair of sweats.

Kurt lets him have the bathroom first, and by the time he finishes brushing his teeth and changing into his pajamas Puck’s stretched out in Kurt’s bed with his arms folded behind his head. Like he’s waiting, and Kurt’s wings flap hard against his shoulders as he crosses to the bed and climbs onto the mattress.

He slides under the sheet next to Puck, turning onto his side to study Puck’s profile in the darkness. “What did the recruiter say?”

Puck shrugs against the pillow, then he turns onto his side to face Kurt. “Not much. I told you, he just wanted Finn to sign some papers.”

Kurt’s pretty sure it’s a lie, but he doesn’t call Puck on it. Instead he nods and inches a little closer, his wings fluttering behind him as though they’re trying to propel him forward even while one of them is more or less trapped against the mattress.

Puck’s hand lands on his hip, easing Kurt toward him. “Come on, turn over.”

So Kurt does, blushing and stretching out on his stomach to let Puck run a hand along the ridge of his right wing. It stretches under his touch, flapping once, and Puck sucks in a breath and lets his fingers slide through the soft feathers.

“What’s it feel like?”

“Do you mean when you touch them?” Kurt asks, his face flushing even brighter red, because it’s one thing if Puck knows what he’s doing to Kurt, but it’s another thing to make him _say_ it.

“I meant having them in the first place,” Puck answers, but Kurt can tell by the way he says it that Puck knows exactly what Kurt’s thinking.

“What does it feel like, having a completely useless set of wings?” Kurt sighs against the pillow and pushes himself up on his elbows, pushing Puck’s hand a little lower in the process. “I suppose I should be grateful that they stopped hurting after I figured out how to walk with them. I still forget they’re there sometimes, but then they start with their ridiculous flapping for no good reason.”

Puck smirks at him, hand sliding up the center of Kurt’s back to rest at the sensitive spot where wings meet skin. “Yeah, sometimes I can tell what you’re thinking by the way they move. Guess that means they’re not totally useless.”

Kurt’s laugh trails off into a choked sort of gasp when Puck’s fingers dig into the soft feathers close to his shoulder blade. His wings are sensitive – of _course_ his wings are sensitive – but until Puck touched them for the first time he had no idea just how sensitive they could be. Each spot Puck finds is more responsive than the last, and when he runs his thumb along the underside of the ridge, Kurt bites down hard to hold back a moan.

“You like that?” Puck asks, voice low and husky and too close to Kurt’s ear, and there’s no way Kurt’s getting out of this with his dignity intact.

His wings betray him by fluttering softly, spreading just enough to let Puck’s hand sink even deeper into the soft down at the base of his feathers. Puck laughs in the darkness, the sound going straight to Kurt’s dick, and he fights not to move his hips against the mattress.

“Guess your wings like it, anyway,” Puck says, like he _knows_ , and Kurt buries his face in the pillow so he won’t have to look at Puck while he dies of humiliation.

“Puck,” he murmurs, and he’s planning to tell Puck to stop, he really is, but the word comes out more like a moan than a warning.

He feels the mattress shift, then Puck’s hand is sliding down the center of his back, hot against Kurt’s skin and when he feels Puck’s lips brush against his shoulder, Kurt can’t hold back a gasp. His wings are stretched wide behind him, lifting as though they’re making room for Puck to move closer.

So he does, his mouth brushing Kurt’s cheek this time, then the soft skin just below his ear. He hears Puck whisper his name, and he knows he should make Puck stop, make him listen to reason, because this isn’t fair to either of them. But Puck’s hand is on his hip, nudging him gently until Kurt folds his wings close enough to turn on his side. When he does Puck’s looking at him, eyes dark and searching Kurt’s face like he’s looking for the answer to a question he hasn’t asked.

His arm’s around Kurt’s waist, bare chests pressed together and Kurt feels the pull of want in the base of his stomach. It’s not the first time, but it’s the first time it’s felt like this, as though there’s some invisible force drawing them together. _Or not so invisible,_ Kurt thinks when his wings flutter impatiently behind him, then he pushes forward and kisses Puck hard.

Puck lets out a noise that could be surprise against Kurt’s mouth, and Kurt has a moment of panic where he thinks maybe he’s read this entire situation all wrong, but when he starts to pull away Puck’s grip tightens to hold him in place. His lips part under Kurt’s, tongue sliding along his bottom lip and dragging a gasp out of him, and as soon as Kurt’s mouth opens Puck pushes his tongue past Kurt’s teeth.

His hand slides up to grip Kurt’s wing joint where it meets his back, and Kurt lets out a helpless moan and arches back into the touch. He hears Puck’s low chuckle, feels it vibrate against his chest, but before Kurt has a chance to be embarrassed Puck’s moving again, rolling onto his back and pulling Kurt with him until he’s sprawled across Puck’s chest.

Until his wings are free, and when Puck strokes his other hand along the tip of Kurt’s left wing, he feels them vibrate with pleasure. Puck breaks the kiss to look up at him, his expression open and raw in a way Kurt hasn’t seen since that whole mess with Quinn and their baby. Then again, he hasn’t really been paying much attention to Puck this whole time, and according to Finn, he’s missed a lot.

Kurt reaches up to curve his hand around Puck’s cheek, thumb dragging along stubble and just looking, his heart pounding so hard he’s sure Puck can feel it. Sure Puck can tell how terrified he is that none of this is real, that he’s going to wake up any second and be alone with his wings and the aching in his chest that only goes away when Puck’s touching him.

“Don’t tell me to stop,” Puck says, and he sounds _desperate_ , as though he’s been thinking about kissing Kurt for a long time. 

Kurt shakes his head and slides his thumb along Puck’s bottom lip, then he presses forward and kisses Puck again. Puck moans against his mouth and pushes his fingers into the downy feathers where Kurt’s wing meets his back, tugging just hard enough to make his wings stretch out behind him. And Kurt didn’t even know he could do that, so he doesn’t know how Puck figured it out, but he doesn’t bother to ask.

Nothing about this surprises him anymore, not even the fact that Puck seems to have developed psychic powers when it comes to Kurt’s wings. They flap once, wildly, then they start to vibrate again, and when Kurt lets out a helpless moan Puck grips his hips and drags him close until Kurt’s stretched out between his legs.

It shouldn’t surprise him that Puck’s hard, but Kurt gasps anyway, arching forward before he can stop himself to slide their cocks together. Puck moans and lets go of his wings to slide his hand down Kurt’s back, then he grips Kurt’s ass to rock them together.

Kurt’s done this before, but with Blaine it was usually sweet and slow, soft touches and breathy gasps and kisses that went on forever. Puck’s hands are anything but soft, his kisses are rough and urgent and the sounds he’s making let Kurt know exactly how much he wants this. His fingers bite into Kurt’s skin to drag him closer, teeth grazing Kurt’s jaw and then his neck as Puck sucks a mark into pale skin.

He clutches at Kurt like he can’t get close enough, rocking up helplessly in search of more friction, and it dawns on Kurt that this is likely the first time in _years_ that Puck doesn’t really know what he’s doing in bed. The thought is terrifying, but his wings stretch and arc up over his shoulders at the thought, as though they’re _proud_ of being Puck’s first something, which is just ridiculous, because it’s not like his wings are the ones with the experience here.

He tilts his head to find Puck’s mouth again, making soothing noises in his throat as he kisses Puck until he stops fighting for more. His hands press against the mattress on either side of Puck’s hips and he lifts up a little, just enough to look in Puck’s eyes. 

“Can I…?” he asks, sliding a hand between them to grip the edge of Puck’s waistband, and Puck nods frantically and lets go of Kurt to push his sweatpants down his hips.

He’s not wearing any underwear; that’s no surprise, just like it’s not really a surprise that the stories about Puck are mostly true. The heat curling in the base of Kurt’s stomach tightens and he reaches out, wrapping a hand around Puck’s dick and stroking a few times. He’s not really an expert, and Puck’s probably had plenty of hand jobs before, but when Kurt ventures a glance at him Puck doesn’t look like he’s thinking about complaining.

His lips are parted and his fingers are curled around the sheet on either side of him, hips rocking up into Kurt’s grip and looking at Kurt like he’s the best thing Puck’s ever seen. Like he’s actually _enjoying_ this, and Kurt figures it shouldn’t be a surprise that Puck’s flexible enough to take his pleasure where he can.

Still, he’s not expecting Puck to reciprocate, because there’s stroking his wings and there’s letting Kurt touch him, and okay, there’s even kissing, but touching Kurt’s dick is a whole different story. So he’s not surprised when Puck pushes up off the mattress, gripping Kurt’s hips and choking out, “wait.”

Kurt lets go of him automatically, ignores the choked sound Puck makes and the way his heart plummets into his stomach. He ignores the way his wings droop, too, because he’s the one who’s about to die of humiliation here, so they don’t get a vote.

But instead of pushing him off and making excuses, Puck pulls Kurt up onto his knees until he’s straddling Puck’s legs, then he grips his pajamas and yanks them down until Kurt’s cock springs free. His hands grip Kurt’s thighs to drag him closer, and when Kurt’s wings stretch to their full length and flap around him, Puck barks a surprised laugh.

“That’s so fucking hot,” he says, then he tugs Kurt forward, pressing their lips together and pushing his tongue past Kurt’s teeth to kiss him hard. His hand closes around Kurt’s cock, palm rough and just this side of too dry, but Kurt doesn’t care, because Puck’s touching him, and it feels more amazing than he ever thought it could.

Kurt’s own hand slides between them to grip Puck again, matching his rhythm until they’re rocking together, breathing the same air while Kurt’s wings beat around them. Puck nips at his bottom lip, tongue sliding out to soothe the sting and Kurt presses forward and kisses him again. His free hand rests on the back of Puck’s neck to keep him upright, fingers splayed and stroking little patterns in the base of his ridiculous mohawk.

And apparently Puck likes it, at least if the noises he’s making are anything to go by. He rocks up a little harder into Kurt’s grip, murmuring against Kurt’s mouth now, and when Kurt hears Puck say, “come on,” in the second before he pushes his fingers into the feathers at the center of Kurt’s back, Kurt lets out a cry and comes.

For a second Kurt’s frozen in place, hand still gripping Puck’s cock loosely as he tries to catch his breath. His wings are vibrating with pleasure, and when Puck strokes a soothing hand through the feathers Kurt chokes out another gasp.

He’s not prepared for his wings to be that sensitive; sure, they respond to Puck’s touch readily enough, but suddenly they’re _too_ sensitive, and he moans and pushes forward to kiss Puck again. He lets go of Puck’s cock long enough to slide his palm through the come already cooling on his belly, then he grips Puck again and fists him harder than ever.

Puck moans low in his throat and rocks up into Kurt’s grip, tongue thrusting in and out of Kurt’s mouth in time with his strokes until finally he’s tensing and moaning Kurt’s name as he comes. When he comes down his hands aren’t buried in Kurt’s wings anymore, and Kurt can’t decide if it’s a relief or a disappointment.

He doesn’t have much time to think about it, though, because Puck’s pushing him up and off his lap, sliding down onto the mattress and dragging Kurt with him to kiss him again. It’s softer this time, slow and lazy and familiar in a way it probably shouldn’t be. But that’s just another one of those things that doesn’t really surprise Kurt anymore, so Kurt just kisses him back like this is exactly what they were made for.

His pajamas are still down around his thighs, but when Kurt pulls away to drag them back up, Puck’s hand reaches out to stop him. When Kurt looks up at him he grins, then he grasps the sides of Kurt’s pants and drags them down his legs to join Puck’s sweatpants where he’s already kicked them off.

Warm hands slide up his sides, tugging him forward until he’s stretched out next to Puck again, wings folded behind him and his ear pressed to Puck’s chest to listen to his heartbeat. Puck’s hand slides up his back under his wings, pressed to Kurt’s skin and stroking along his spine until Kurt sighs and settles a little further against him.

They still haven’t talked about any of this, about what Puck wants or where they go from here. Kurt has no idea if Puck is planning to stick around, or if he’s just helping Kurt adjust to his new life. There’s no way he’ll stick around forever; Kurt would never expect him to, not when he got dragged into this mess without his permission. But he’s here now, and even if it’s not for good, Kurt will take what he can get.

~

He wakes up to stifling heat, a heavy arm draped across his waist and Puck’s face pressed into the back of his neck. His wings are trapped between them, and it’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but Puck’s putting out enough heat to power a small engine. Kurt tries to squirm out from under his arm, but all it does is make Puck snort against his neck and clamp down even tighter on his waist.

Kurt rolls his eyes and covers Puck’s hand with his own, but when he tries to lift Puck’s arm, all that happens is Puck sliding their fingers together and huffing a hot breath against his skin. And it’s still too hot, but it’s kind of cute, too. Kurt never would have expected Puck to be a _cuddler_ , though it’s no surprise that he’s aggressive about it.

He smiles to himself and flexes his wings a little, fluttering them softly against Puck’s chest. There’s not much room for them to move, but he feels Puck twitch behind him, so Kurt does it again. This time he shrugs his shoulders at the same time, letting the feathers at the tops of his left wing brush across Puck’s cheek.

There’s a disgruntled murmur near his ear, then the grip on his waist loosens and Puck pulls away far enough to let Kurt sit up. When he looks down Puck’s scrubbing a hand across his face, blinking sleepily and Kurt has half a mind to push him back down onto the mattress and kiss him again. Instead he watches while Puck slowly wakes up, frowning in the direction of Kurt’s wings as they flutter softly behind him.

“What the hell, babe?”

Kurt flushes at the term of endearment, but he’s not going to read anything into it. It’s probably just one of those things Puck says to whoever he happens to be sleeping with; it doesn’t _mean_ anything, except that maybe Puck’s not going to climb out of bed and put as much distance as he can between them while he tells Kurt this was a mistake.

It’s a bigger relief than Kurt expects, and he takes a deep breath and reaches behind him to straighten the feathers he can reach so he doesn’t have to look at Puck. “You were crushing my feathers.”

He feels the mattress shift, then Puck’s sliding behind him and leaning in to brush his lips against the back of Kurt’s neck. “Sorry.”

“No harm done,” Kurt says, and when Puck reaches out to push his hand away from his feathers, Kurt doesn’t argue. Instead he lets Puck take over, eyes closed and head dropping forward as Puck carefully works his feathers back into place.

“Better?” Puck says after a few moments, but his fingers are still stroking Kurt’s feathers, tracing the ridges until Kurt’s wings spread wide and flap once.

Kurt nods and forces his eyes open, then he turns far enough to look over his shoulder at Puck. “Much. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Puck says, sliding a hand around the back of Kurt’s neck and pulling him forward to press their lips together. He tastes like stale sleep and Puck, and Kurt breathes in deep through his nose and turns into the kiss.

He shouldn’t want this. He _aches_ for it, in his chest and his gut and even his wings. But even as he’s turning into Puck there’s a voice in the back of his head telling him to stop, that it’s not real and he’s only going to hurt more people in the end.

“Puck...”

He can hear the regret in his voice, and when Puck tenses against him Kurt knows he hears it too. Then Puck pulls away and Kurt feels it in his chest, has to fight to keep from reaching out and dragging him close again. But he can’t, not without making things even worse, so instead he keeps his hands to himself and ignores the way his feathers droop.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that...”

“Yeah, I get it,” Puck interrupts, already climbing off the bed and reaching for his sweatpants where they’re still lying on the floor. “I know I’m not your first choice here.”

Kurt opens his mouth to deny it, then closes it again when he realizes he doesn’t know what to say. The truth is that he doesn’t miss Blaine as much as he should; he hasn’t missed Blaine as much as he expected for the past few weeks now, and when he did come around it mostly ended in an argument. But Kurt feels like he _should_ miss him -- he should miss _them_ \-- and the fact that there’s at least a part of him that really, _really_ wants Puck makes him feel even worse.

“It’s not about being first choice,” he says instead, but when Puck looks at him he knows it was the wrong thing to say. But it’s true; if he could choose, knowing what he does now…well, he’s not entirely sure what choice he’d make. Even after a few days Puck’s gotten under his skin, and just watching him walk across Kurt’s room to shut himself in the bathroom makes Kurt’s chest feel too tight. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that Puck’s his _only_ choice, and if that’s the only reason he’s here, Kurt would rather not choose at all.

He sighs and stands up to retrieve his pajamas from their spot on the floor, pulling them back on just in time for the bathroom door to open again. Kurt turns toward the sound, arms crossed over his chest and watching as Puck crosses the room again to dig a clean t-shirt out of his drawer.

“Puck…” he tries again, but he still has no idea what to say.

“It’s cool,” Puck says without looking at him. “I’m gonna go see what’s for breakfast.”

Before Kurt can come up with the right words to stop him Puck’s gone, and he’s only down in the kitchen, but Kurt still feels a little like he just ruined everything.

~

Puck leaves not long after breakfast. He barely looks at Kurt when he stands up and announces that he’s going out for awhile, and Kurt doesn’t ask where he’s going. It’s none of his business – even less now than it was when they woke up together – and anyway he’s not sure if he wants to know.

His wings aren’t happy about it; they spend most of the day _moping_ , hanging listlessly at his back and refusing to so much as flutter at the opening strains of “Defying Gravity”. But he spends most of the day shut up in his room, so it’s not as though there’s anyone there to notice. Certainly not Puck, because dinner comes and goes and there’s still no sign of him.

Kurt spends most of the day trying not to think about all the places Puck might have gone, who he’s with and what they’re doing together. After all, Puck’s not the one who can’t touch other people, and just the thought is enough to turn Kurt’s stomach. 

The longer he’s gone the worse Kurt feels; his feathers droop pathetically at his back, and the aching hole in his chest gets a little harder to ignore with each passing hour. He considers calling Puck, or maybe sending him a text to say _I’m sorry_ and _please come home_. Except that it’s not Puck’s home, not really, and Kurt still doesn’t have the right to expect anything from him.

It doesn’t even make any sense, because he never felt like this before they figured out Puck could touch him. Or maybe he just didn’t notice, because he was so busy being miserable about his lost future that he didn’t realize there was something even bigger missing.

He’s been pushing his food around his plate since Carole coaxed him down to dinner, and he knows he’s doing a lousy job of convincing them not to worry about him. But he can’t help it, not when it’s been over eight hours since his…well, sort of argument with Puck, and he hasn’t gotten so much as a text.

“Everything okay, son?” his dad asks, and Kurt drags his gaze away from his mostly uneaten dinner and looks up at his father.

“Fine,” he lies, because it’s not fine, but there’s no way he can tell his dad that he had sex with Puck and then tried to take it back even though he didn’t really want to, and now Puck’s probably never going to speak to him again.

“I got a call from the doctor today,” his dad says, and something about the way he says it makes Kurt’s wings flutter nervously. His dad watches the motion for a second, then he clears his throat and shifts in his chair. “There’s this specialist he’s been talking to out in Seattle. He thinks he might be able to take care of your wings.”

“’Take care of’?” Kurt repeats, his wings folding flat against his back, and at least they’re not moping anymore.

“You know, remove them,” his dad says. “You’d still have the…other problem, but at least you wouldn’t have to worry so much about people seeing you.”

Kurt’s heart lurches at the thought, though he can’t tell if it’s hope or something else. For a second he wishes more than anything that Puck was here, but with or without wings, he still wouldn’t be able to touch anyone but Puck, so it doesn’t really matter.

“Would it be dangerous?”

His dad shrugs, glancing across the table at Carole, and Kurt knows him well enough to know that means the answer is yes.

“We’ll support you no matter what decision you make, honey,” Carole says, and when Kurt looks over at her she’s giving him that watery smile that means she’s trying not to cry. “You know we love you no matter what. We just want you to be happy.”

“But you think I should do it.”

“Couldn’t hurt to talk to the guy,” his dad says, but he sighs like he doesn’t really like the idea any more than Kurt does. “You don’t have to commit to anything until you’re comfortable.”

Kurt knows what they’re not saying. The situation’s not getting any better, and at least this way he’d have a chance at some kind of life. He’d still have to be careful every time he went out, and he’d have to avoid crowds at all costs, but at least people wouldn’t stare at him everywhere he went. It would be better for everyone, for his dad’s career and Kurt’s too, and even for Puck.

He remembers the way Puck touched his wings just that morning, before Kurt ruined everything, but he pushes the memory aside and ignores the way his wings lift sort of hopefully. 

“Just think about it, son,” his dad says, pushing away from the table and picking up his plate. “It’s your decision.”

Kurt nods and looks down at his plate again, his stomach turning at the thought of food. The ache in his chest is worse than ever, and by the time he drags himself back up to his room he feels like crying. There’s not even anyone he can call, because Blaine hates him and Mercedes is in L.A., even Rachel’s gone off to New York to live the life Kurt will never have, and Puck…he has no idea where he stands with Puck.

He’s contemplating just going to bed when he hears the doorbell, and when his wings spread and flap hard against his shoulders, he knows exactly who it is. A minute later he hears Puck’s footsteps on the stairs, and he braces himself for the moment when Puck walks into his room and starts packing his things.

He’s aching and exhausted and he doesn’t understand _why_ , but he knows all it would take is a touch from Puck to make everything right again. It doesn’t make any sense, and he doesn’t have any right to ask, but when Puck appears in his doorway he stands up anyway.

“Hey,” Puck says, voice a little rough, and Kurt’s wings stretch in response.

“Hi,” he answers, arms crossed over his chest and feeling more naked than ever. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”

Puck shrugs and glances over his shoulder toward the hall, as though maybe he’s thinking about leaving again. Instead he shuts the door and turns back to Kurt, and his expression makes Kurt’s heart skip a beat.

“I probably shouldn’t have.”

“Yes, you should,” Kurt says before he can stop himself, because he has no idea what they’re doing, but he knows now that Puck belongs here. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. You’re not second choice, Puck. It’s just…I don’t even know what you’re doing here.”

The whole time he talks he’s edging closer to Puck, wings fluttering frantically behind him in an effort to move him forward. He doesn’t see Puck move, but Kurt knows he must have, because suddenly he’s right there, and when Kurt reaches out a hand, Puck catches it.

As soon as Puck touches him Kurt’s whole body relaxes, and he knows it should embarrass him that he needs this so much, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when Puck’s looking just as relieved as he feels, as though spending the entire day apart has been just as hard on him as it was on Kurt.

Puck’s hand slides up his arm to touch the edge of his wing, fingers stroking Kurt’s feathers and sending a shiver straight down his spine. “What, I can’t just like hanging out with you?”

Kurt’s laugh is shaky, and he reaches up and catches Puck’s hand where it’s tracing the curve of his shoulder now. “It’s not as though I’m complaining. It’s just…unexpected, that’s all. You’re possibly the last person I’d expect to want to be with me. Well, except maybe Finn.”

Puck smiles down at their hands where Kurt’s still holding onto him, then he pulls his hand away and Kurt has to stop himself from reaching out again. “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly your type either, right?”

Kurt wants to laugh again, because he’s heard Puck say a lot of dumb things in his time, but that’s possibly the dumbest one yet. The truth is Puck’s pretty much _exactly_ his type, now that he actually stops to think about it. Except that Puck actually looks like he means it – looks like it’s hurting him a little to say it – so Kurt takes a chance and steps forward.

“You’re right. Handsome, well-built, actually able to touch me…not my type at all.”

He expects Puck to laugh at that, maybe flash one of those cocky smiles Kurt’s seen a million times and pull Kurt into his arms. Instead he gets a frown, then Puck looks away and lets out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I get that we’re stuck with each other.”

“But we’re not,” Kurt says, arms crossed over his chest, and he can’t believe how badly he’s messing this up, but it’s not as though he has a lot of experience with convincing someone that he’s attracted to them. “I mean, you’re not stuck with me. You can leave any time you want, which you demonstrated quite clearly this morning.”

He doesn’t mean to sound so bitter. He’s only stating facts, and it’s nothing Puck doesn’t already know. But his wings are already protesting, fluttering anxiously behind him and no matter how Kurt tries, he can’t get them to behave.

“You actually believe that,” Puck says, in a tone that tells Kurt he’s not even surprised. “You think I can just fuck off whenever and forget about all this? I told you already, I can _feel_ it.”

“Fine, for some bizarre reason you can feel some shadow of the pain I feel when someone touches me. But no one touched me today except you. There was nothing to feel.”

Puck rolls his eyes, then he steps forward and reaches out, and Kurt bites his lip when Puck’s fingers trace the ridge of his left wing. “It’s not just when somebody else is touching you. Why do you think your dad said I could move in? There’s some kind of link between us. It’s strong enough that it showed up on those tests they did at the hospital.”

He pauses, his hand sliding around the back of Kurt’s neck to splay his fingers across Kurt’s skin. “You think I don’t feel the way you relax when I touch you? You think I couldn’t tell how much today sucked? It sucked for me, too, Kurt. The second I get more than ten feet away from you it feels like I’m drowning.”

Kurt’s breath catches in his throat, his hand coming up to curl in the front of Puck’s shirt. “Why is this happening to us?”

They both know there’s no answer to that, so Kurt’s not surprised when Puck just shakes his head and drags Kurt forward to press their lips together. Kurt doesn’t hesitate before he kisses Puck back, grip tightening as though he thinks maybe Puck’s going to try to get away.

The hollow ache in his chest started to ease the second Puck touched him again, and now that Puck’s kissing him Kurt feels like he could fly. That is, if his wings actually worked, and Kurt wants to laugh at the thought, but he’s too busy surging forward to kiss Puck harder. His arms slide around Puck’s neck, wings flapping behind him as Puck moves them backwards until Kurt’s thighs hit the bed.

Kurt sits down hard, Puck dropping to his knees in front of Kurt and pressing his hands to Kurt’s thighs. He leans in and opens his mouth against Kurt’s neck, breathing in deep and gripping Kurt’s legs hard enough to leave bruises. 

“I don’t know why it’s happening,” Puck says, voice muffled against his skin, “but I don’t want it to stop.”

Kurt’s hands grip Puck’s shirt again, tugging this time until Puck gets with the program and pulls back long enough to tug it over his head. He drops it on the floor before he reaches for the front of Kurt’s pants, and he can honestly say that never in a million years would he have expected to see Noah Puckerman on his knees in front of him.

But there he is, and when he pulls Kurt’s pants open and slides a hand inside, Kurt bites down hard on his lip and closes his eyes. A second later he opens them again, his whole face flushing at the sight of his dick sliding between Puck’s lips.

It’s not his first blow job – though it’s pretty close – so he manages not to come at the mere sight of Puck with his eyes closed and his cheeks hollowed, one hand still pressed against Kurt’s thigh and the other wrapped loosely around the base of his cock. Puck’s probably been on the receiving end of a lot more blow jobs than Kurt, but that doesn’t mean he understands anything about technique.

In a way it makes Kurt feel a little better that Puck’s less than expert at this, because Kurt’s not exactly a blow job savant or anything, and Puck’s going to know it the first time Kurt goes down on him. Still, there’s something about the sight of Puck’s mouth wrapped around him, eyes dark with lust when he looks up at Kurt, and as soon as he sees Kurt’s flushed cheeks and his red, open lips, Puck sucks a little harder.

Kurt makes a noise he’ll deny all the way to his deathbed and reaches out, sliding a hand along Puck’s scalp and stroking the soft skin there. He’s not really the hair-pulling type, not that Puck has much hair to pull on anyway, but he wants Puck to know he appreciates the effort. 

He wants Puck to know he’s _enjoying_ this, but mostly he wants Puck to know that Kurt’s not sorry they’re stuck with each other.

“Puck, I…” he says, and that’s as far as he gets, but Puck must understand somehow, because he pulls off and leans up to kiss Kurt hard, fist still stroking hard until Kurt tenses and thrusts up into his grip and comes.

Puck waits until he stops shaking before he lets go, fingers sliding through the wet heat on Kurt’s stomach before he reaches down to tug his jeans open and pull out his own cock. He’s still kissing Kurt, free hand on the back of Kurt’s neck and holding him in place. Kurt moans against his mouth, pushing at his shoulders to try to get Puck closer, onto the bed where Kurt can return the favor. But before he can make Puck understand what he wants Puck’s gasping and tensing against him, his own come mingling with Kurt’s as he lets go.

Kurt’s hands are on Puck’s cheeks, feathering soft kisses against Puck’s mouth and jaw while he waits for Puck’s breathing to even out. “I would have…”

“Couldn’t wait,” Puck says, then he lets out a shaky laugh and presses forward to kiss Kurt again. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“Where were you?” Kurt asks, whispering the words against his mouth, and he doesn’t intend for them to sound quite so needy, but that’s how they come out.

“My mom’s house,” Puck answers, finally pushing off his knees to climb onto the bed next to Kurt. They stretch out side by side, Puck’s arm sliding around his waist to bury his fingers in the soft feathers at Kurt’s back. “She finally kicked me out; said watching me mope was giving her a headache.”

Kurt smiles and reaches for the edge of the sheet, doing his best to clean them up before he curls into Puck and presses as much of them together as he can. Puck’s fingers are still stroking through his wings, slow and soft and Kurt doesn’t try to hold back a sigh when warm fingers curl around the joint where his wing meets his back. 

“And here I thought maybe you just missed me.”

“I tried not to. I tried not to think about you all day, but I couldn’t stop.”

“And yet you managed to stay away for a long time,” Kurt says, not even bothering to try to keep the accusation out of his voice.

“I thought you wanted me to,” Puck answers, his arm tightening around Kurt’s waist. “Seemed like you weren’t that crazy about having me around.”

Kurt sighs, forehead pressing against Puck’s shoulder and brushing his lips against warm skin. “I didn’t want you to leave. I just didn’t understand what was happening to us. I still don’t.”

Puck rolls onto his back, pulling Kurt with him until Kurt’s head is pillowed on his chest. His wings stretch out, flapping once before they settle down to curl around Kurt’s shoulders and Puck’s chest.

“Maybe God just wanted us together, and this is His way of letting us know.”

“I don’t believe in God,” Kurt says, frowning against Puck’s chest.

“Fine, the universe, then,” Puck answers. “Call it what you want, babe, but if we were meant to be together it was going to happen one way or the other.”

“That’s not the way it works and you know it.” Kurt pushes up on one elbow to look down at Puck, frowning when he realizes Puck’s actually being serious. “People aren’t cosmically destined for each other, no matter what Broadway and Hollywood want us to believe.”

“People don’t just grow wings, either.”

“That’s a low blow,” Kurt says, but he doesn’t pull away when Puck’s hand strokes down the center of his back.

“Doesn’t make it any less true.” Puck lets go of Kurt’s wing and shifts up onto his elbows, leaning up to catch Kurt’s lips in a soft kiss. “I’m just saying, maybe somebody was trying to get our attention.”

“By giving me wings.”

“Yeah, well, you can be kind of stubborn,” Puck says, grinning when Kurt frowns.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he answers, but his hand betrays him by curving around Puck’s cheek, holding him up so Puck can kiss him again. 

And he still doesn’t believe in destiny or soulmates, but Puck seems to, and so far Kurt hasn’t come up with a better explanation. Something neither of them can see or touch is making him crave Puck’s presence, making him _need_ Puck in a way he’s never needed anyone before. Whether it’s some strange chemical reaction or a grand plan neither of them has any control over, he can’t deny that he wants Puck.

He lets Puck pull him back down onto the mattress, arms strong around his waist and kissing Kurt like he’s trying to prove a point. That they really do belong together, maybe, and there’s a part of Kurt that wants to believe he’s right.


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt doesn’t think about the specialist his dad mentioned again until the next day. They’re side by side on the couch, arms and hips and thighs touching, watching an episode of _True Life_ that Kurt’s already seen at least once. It’s the one about the women who regret their plastic surgery, and Kurt’s aware of the irony, but as soon as they show one of the girls in a doctor’s office, he remembers what his dad said about the specialist.

His wings flutter nervously against the couch cushions, and Kurt frowns and shifts his weight until they’re not trapped against his back. As soon as he moves Puck’s hand is on him, sliding up his spine to rest at the spot where feathers meet skin.

“What’s the problem?”

It’s not the first time Kurt’s been annoyed that his wings have a tendency to give away how he’s feeling. He’s not sure if anyone else can tell, but Puck can, and that’s bad enough. That’s one problem going through with the surgery would solve; if he didn’t have any wings to betray him, it would be a lot easier to have some modicum of control over his emotions.

“The doctor called to talk to my dad,” Kurt answers, not quite looking at Puck as he says it. “There’s a specialist in Seattle who thinks he might be able to remove my wings.”

“You mean, like…no,” Puck says, his hand sliding into the feathers at the base of Kurt’s wing as he speaks, as though he can keep them there just by holding on. “No way, Kurt. There’s no telling what that would do to you.”

He has a point; Kurt thought the same thing himself yesterday, after his father brought it up. After his father sort of indicated that he thought it was a good idea, and Kurt can’t help wondering how much of that has to do with his sudden connection to Puck.

“My dad thinks I should go see him. Just to see what he has to say.”

“What else is there to say? He wants to cut off your _wings_ , Kurt,” Puck says, and he sounds so distressed about it that Kurt wishes he hadn’t brought it up. But Puck has a right to know that it’s an option, and Kurt really needs someone to talk to about it. 

Puck’s fingers are stroking his right wing, carefully pushing through the feathers without bending them, as though he’s been doing it all his life. He’s good at it – better than Kurt, because at least he can reach all of them – and Kurt finds himself leaning into the touch. It feels fantastic, but it’s distracting, too, and he has to struggle to remember what they were talking about.

“But what if it affected the connection somehow? Maybe if the wings were gone…”

As soon as he says it Puck pulls his hand away, backing up on the couch until they’re not touching at all. Kurt's wings spread hopefully, but he doesn't let himself reach out for Puck, because they have to talk about this sooner or later.

"I already told you, I don't want it to stop."

"I know what you said," Kurt answers, his voice catching on the words, and this shouldn't be so hard, because it's just Puck. Kurt's not _in love_ with him or anything, but the thought of giving him up makes his chest ache all the same. "But what if it's not real? What if it's just because of the wings? There's no telling how long all this will last, Puck. You can't blame me for wanting to know the truth."

"It's real," Puck says, voice fierce in a way Kurt hasn't heard for a long time. "You feel it just as much as I do. Just because you don't want it to be true doesn't mean it's just going to go away."

"I didn't say that." Kurt pauses, cheeks flushing at the look Puck gives him, because okay, he is kind of saying that. But the truth is he doesn't know _what_ he wants, and until he's sure Puck really wants this and he's not just the victim of some weird wing-induced hysteria, Kurt can't let himself trust it. "I never said I don't want...us. I just want to cover all the bases."

He can tell Puck doesn't believe him, but it's the best that Kurt can offer, at least for now. Maybe Puck can just throw himself into a relationship without a second thought about consequences, but Kurt's never been that reckless. Sure, he went after Blaine, but only after carefully weighing the situation from all sides and deciding that he and Blaine were perfect for one another. There's nothing about him and Puck that makes sense, but that doesn't stop the pull Kurt feels in his gut every time Puck's anywhere near him, and that's the part Kurt can't trust.

Then again, if it's just lust, he should have gotten it out of his system already. But they’ve had sex more than once now, and the fact remains that Kurt still wants more. He inches a little closer on the couch before he realizes he's moving, reaching out and resting a hand on Puck's thigh.

"Please, Puck. You know I can't do this without you."

"I'm not going to fucking Seattle," Puck says, as though the city's personally offended him somehow. He probably wouldn't even know where Seattle is if it wasn't for Nirvana, but Kurt doesn't say so. Instead he inches closer still, and when his wing stretches out to stroke along Puck's shoulder, Puck reaches up to run his fingers along the tip. "How would we even get there? It's not like you can get on a plane and just hope nobody bumps into you the entire way across the country."

It's a valid question, one Kurt hasn't even considered, because he's been too busy trying not to think about this so-called specialist to worry about the logistics of traveling. "I don't know."

Puck lets out a frustrated breath, but he's stroking along the ridge of Kurt's wing now, and Kurt wants to crawl over him and hold him down so he can't let go again. He settles for inching even closer, facing Puck and drawing his other wing over his shoulder so Puck can run his hands along both ridges at once.

"Look, even if they could get rid of the wings," Puck says, his grip tightening for a second before he catches himself and eases up again, "it might not change anything. It's not like other people could touch you all of a sudden, right? So what's the difference?"

"That's the thing. There's no way of knowing unless we try."

"And if it works and this thing between us goes away?"

"Then I guess we'll know it wasn't real after all," Kurt answers, but just saying the words makes his chest ache, and he doesn't even try to keep the misery out of his voice.

Puck lets out a growl and lets go of Kurt's wings, then he grips Kurt's hips and yanks him forward to press their lips together. The kiss is hard and desperate and Kurt whimpers against his mouth and holds on, gripping Puck's shoulders too hard and trying to pull him even closer. Puck takes the hint and leans back on the couch, lets Kurt straddle his hips and push him back against the cushions and keep kissing him like it's his job. Like it's his only reason for living, and right now it feels like that's true.

"It's real," Puck murmurs against his mouth, hand in Kurt's hair and yanking hard enough to look in Kurt's eyes. His eyes are dark and determined, and Kurt's heart picks up speed at the sound of his voice. "It's real."

Kurt nods, because he's still not sure he believes it, but he knows Puck does. He slides his arms around Puck's shoulders to kiss him again, and they can't do this here, because his family will be back eventually, and he's pretty sure none of them would appreciate walking in on Kurt letting Puck fuck him on the living room couch.

He's never done that before -- never considered it, not even with Blaine -- and until he thinks it for the first time he has no idea it's even on the table. But Puck's hard and thrusting up against him, and when Kurt angles his ass to press down against Puck's lap, Puck lets out a wrecked moan that goes straight to Kurt's cock.

Puck's hands slide up his back, gripping the joints of his wings and digging his thumbs into the tender skin there, making Kurt gasp and press down harder against him. He rocks forward, seeking some friction – anything to relieve the pressure already building in his groin – and he knows he's going to come in his pants, but he doesn't really care. All he cares about is the way Puck's kissing him, like he can't get enough, like he'll never get enough no matter how many times they do this.

"Puck," Kurt whispers against his mouth, and he's pretty sure Puck can't hear him, but he says it again anyway. "Puck, I want..."

It's not really a surprise when the garage door opens, but when Kurt hears his dad and Finn's voices in the kitchen he scrambles off Puck's lap and then off the couch. For a second Puck just blinks up at him, looking confused and sort of lost, and Kurt's heart clenches hard as he holds out a hand for Puck to take.

Finally Puck gets with the program and lets Kurt pull him to his feet and toward the stairs, tripping over their own footsteps in their hurry to get to Kurt's room before Finn or his dad walk in and see them. One look and they'd both know exactly what Kurt and Puck were doing before they came in, and Kurt's not ready to deal with that yet. Not until he figures out what they'd be walking in on, exactly; if it's just sex that's one thing, but it hasn't felt like 'just’ anything since the start.

When they get to his room Puck kicks the door shut and reaches out to catch Kurt around the waist, pulling him close, and Kurt expects another bruising kiss. Instead Puck just looks for a second, dark eyes searching Kurt's face for the answer to some question he hasn't asked.

"Tell me you don't want me."

"Of course I want you," Kurt says, cheeks flushing, because he assumed that much, at least, was obvious. "That's not the problem."

"We want each other," Puck answers, hands moving in distracting little circles on Kurt's back, and that's so not playing fair. "I don’t see a problem."

Kurt rolls his eyes, because honestly, at this point he's fairly sure Puck's being deliberately obtuse. "We can't stay locked up in my bedroom forever."

"Doesn't sound like such a bad plan to me," Puck says, leaning in to open his mouth against the side of Kurt's neck. Kurt lets out a breathy sigh, but he tightens his hands on Puck's shoulders and does his best to push him to a safe distance. Considering Puck's built of solid muscle, he doesn't succeed in much more than making Puck laugh, but he eases his grip on Kurt enough to kiss his way up his jaw instead.

"As appealing as that sounds right now, eventually we're going to get tired of these four walls. Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life in hiding? I had _plans_ , you know."

"Plans change," Puck answers, his voice low and rough and sending a thrill of want down Kurt's spine. He presses closer to the warmth of Puck's chest, and when Puck's mouth lands on his neck again, Kurt tilts his head to give him better access.

"What about your plan to enlist?"

Puck's mouth stills on his skin, but he doesn't straighten up right away. Kurt feels Puck inhale against his neck, fingers flexing against his back before he pulls back to look at Kurt. "Like I said, plans change."

Reliefs floods Kurt as soon as he says it, and he knows it must show on his face, because Puck smiles and reaches up to run a thumb along his bottom lip. "What, you thought I was going to ditch you to go off and play soldier with Finn?"

"As far as I knew it was still on the table," Kurt answers. And he knows what changed Puck's mind, knows that it's this weird pull between them that might not even be real. Except it _feels_ real, and no matter how hard Kurt denies it, it doesn't seem to be going anywhere.

"Finn's going to have plenty of guys to watch his back. He doesn't need me," Puck says, doesn't add, _like you do_ , but Kurt hears it anyway. He doesn't bother denying it, because they both know it's true. They need each other, for whatever reason, whether it's because of Kurt's wings or something else entirely.

He leans in to kiss Puck again, lips pressed to the corner of his mouth, and Puck makes a noise in the back of his throat and turns into him. Puck kisses him slow, hands sliding up and down his back like he's trying to memorize Kurt. His fingers brush Kurt's wings, stroking along the feathers and sending little shivers of pleasure to coil in Kurt's belly. It's nothing like their kiss in the living room; that was all heat and desperate urgency, but somehow this is even better, because it feels almost like a promise of things to come.

His father's right downstairs, Finn too, but all Kurt can think about is getting Puck as close as possible. He wants to crawl inside him, pull him close and never, ever let go. It hits him with a force he doesn't expect, making his knees wobble and then Puck's arms are tightening around him and moving him backwards toward the bed. And that's a great idea, but Kurt has an even better one, so he leans in to press a soft kiss to Puck's lips, then he shoves until Puck sits down hard on the edge of the mattress.

"Wait right here," he says, pulling away before Puck can ask what he thinks he's doing. And he's not really prepared for this, but if he gives himself time to think he'll talk himself out of it, so he focuses on the memory of Puck's hands on him and reaches into a drawer for one of the condoms his father handed over during the second most embarrassing sex talk of his life.

He hadn't gone so far as to buy lube, which is probably for the best, since Kurt probably would have died of humiliation, which means he wouldn't have needed the condoms in the first place. But they're going to need _something_ , so Kurt hesitates with his hand over a jar before he blushes and picks it up.

Supplies in hand, he crosses back to the bed to find Puck still sitting exactly where Kurt left him, shirt gone but his pants still on, and Kurt rolls his eyes and drops the jar and the condom on the mattress. Puck glances down at them for a second, then he looks up at Kurt, and if there was any chance of Kurt changing his mind, it's gone as soon as Puck looks at him.

"Yeah?"

Kurt nods, blushing as he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down his thighs, leaving him standing in front of Puck in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. Puck swallows hard and stands up, unbuttoning his own jeans and kicking off shoes and socks before he shoves his jeans down to join the rest of his clothes on the floor.

The quick break in action hasn't done anything to diminish his erection, and when Kurt remembers just how big it is his heart picks up speed for a whole new reason. Because there's no way he's actually going to get that thing inside of him, no matter how much part of him wants to try.

And he must look like he's thinking about hyperventilating, like that's not completely humiliating, because suddenly Puck's in front of him, hands on his shoulders and pulling him forward to press soft kisses to his cheeks and his eyes and his mouth. "Relax, babe. I'm gonna take good care of you."

It's such a cheesy thing to say that Kurt can't help laughing, but instead of asking Puck just how much porn he's watched during his high school career, he just nods and lets Puck hook his thumbs into Kurt's boxer briefs and slide them down his thighs. Kurt steps out of them and lets Puck pull him back toward the bed, then he lets Puck sit down and move back on the mattress until Kurt has enough room to straddle his thighs again.

He sort of expects Puck to jump right to the action; they got a decent head start downstairs, after all, but he doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. His hands run up and down Kurt’s back slowly, as though they’ve got all the time in the world, pupils blown wide with lust and something else as he looks back at Kurt.

It’s the something else that makes Kurt’s heart stutter, and when Puck says his name Kurt presses forward to kiss him hard. He’s only vaguely aware that they’re moving, but the next time he comes up for air Puck’s back is pressed against his headboard and his hands are on Kurt’s hips to rock them together.

Kurt bites down on a moan, trying to stay quiet because it’s the middle of the day and his dad and Finn are right downstairs. That’s a good enough reason to stop, to pull away and tell Puck this is a bad idea and they can pick things up later, once everyone’s asleep. Except this feels important somehow, as though it’s more than just Kurt wanting to be as close to Puck as possible.

He doesn’t know _what_ it is, exactly, but he’s not willing to give it up. Just the thought makes his stomach drop as though he’s on a rollercoaster, and when Puck’s hand leaves his hip to curve around his ass, Kurt lets out a sharp, surprised breath and blushes hard.

Puck’s low chuckle rumbles against his neck, vibrating in his chest and making Kurt blush even harder. And he should have known that Puck would have some experience with this, regardless of the fact that Kurt’s almost positive he’s the first man Puck’s been with. His hands are sure, at any rate, fingers pushing Kurt’s cheeks apart and his thumb sliding across Kurt’s opening and making him shudder.

He registers Puck’s whispered _shh_ and thinks about being offended, but Puck’s sucking on his neck now, and the sensation drives every other thought out of Kurt’s brain. His world narrows down to the rough drag of Puck’s thumb teasing his entrance and the hot, wet suction on Kurt’s skin, and when Puck’s thumb disappears Kurt has to bite his lip to hold back a disappointed whine.

Puck feels around for the jar of cream he’s actually managed to drag up the bed with them, glancing down at it for a second before he looks up at Kurt again. “What is this stuff?”

“Very expensive eye cream,” Kurt says, and he’d thought he was already at maximum blush capacity, but somehow his skin gets even hotter. “It’s the best I can do on short notice.”

“Works for me,” Puck says, then his twists the lid off the jar and digs a finger in. Kurt spares a moment of regret for the amount of money they’re about to waste, then Puck’s finger is circling his opening, and he decides it’s worth it. His head drops forward, eyes closed and focusing on the tease of Puck’s finger circling him – circling but not pushing inside – and Kurt makes an impatient noise and pushes back into his touch.

The tip of Puck’s finger slides inside him and Kurt freezes, because that’s exactly what he was aiming for, but he didn’t really expect it until it actually happened. It feels…a little weird, certainly, but not painful at all, and he takes a breath and forces his eyes open to look at Puck.

Puck who’s looking right back at him, eyes almost black now and his expression an odd mixture of lust and surprise. Like maybe he didn’t really expect Kurt to go through with it, and now that he knows Kurt’s serious, he’s not so sure of himself.

Then their eyes meet and Puck lets out a sound that doesn’t even sound human, his finger sliding a little deeper as he presses forward to kiss Kurt again. Kisses him and kisses him, tongue sliding past his teeth and breathing hard against his mouth and his finger pushing in and out of Kurt, agonizingly slow, keeping time with his tongue where it’s fucking Kurt’s mouth.

Kurt’s aware that he’s breathing hard, panting through his nose and his fingers digging into Puck’s shoulders to pull him closer, probably leaving marks, but Puck doesn’t seem to mind. The hand that’s not busy working Kurt open slides up his back, gripping the joint of Kurt’s left wing and dragging a moan out of Kurt.

His fingers push through the soft, downy feathers along the wing joint until Kurt’s rocking back against Puck, pushing for more until Puck’s finger is buried as deep inside him as it can get. He thinks about how they must look, wishes for a moment that he could see, then blushes all over again.

Puck’s finger slides out of him and Kurt moans at the loss, then he fumbles for the jar of cream again and Kurt writes the entire thing off as a loss. _Worth it,_ he thinks and starts to laugh, but the sound shifts to a moan when Puck slides two fingers inside him.

He’s still taking his time, letting Kurt set the pace, and Kurt can’t decide if it’s uncharacteristically sweet or if Puck just can’t stand to cause Kurt any pain when he knows he’ll be able to feel it too. Then again, Kurt’s not sure if their connection works that way. He knows Puck can feel it when someone else touches him, and he knows Puck can feel it when he’s upset, but they haven’t really tested the limits of their connection yet.

Kurt considers asking, but then Puck angles his wrist a little and hits a spot inside Kurt that makes his whole body shudder, and he forgets what he was thinking about.

“Oh,” Kurt hears himself breathe, as though it’s taken him by surprise, and when Puck laughs again it’s filled with so much _affection_ that Kurt can’t bring himself to mind.

He knows what a prostate is, obviously, and apparently Puck does too, because he hits it again, rubbing deliberately this time, and Kurt moans and drops his head onto Puck’s shoulder. “Puck…”

His voice is broken and desperate and he can’t manage more than Puck’s name, but somehow he gets it. He’s pulling his fingers free, at any rate, letting go of Kurt’s wings too, then he’s reaching for the condom and tearing the package open. He swears at it for a second when it resists his slick fingers, and Kurt laughs against his shoulder and reaches for Puck’s hand.

He pulls the condom out of Puck’s grip and opens it with shaking fingers, then he sits back on his heels and reaches for Puck’s cock. Puck groans and thrusts up once, then he stills his hips with an effort to let Kurt roll the condom down. Maybe it’s a mistake, because as soon as he touches Puck he remembers exactly how much bigger his dick is than his fingers, and Kurt swallows at the thought of opening enough to take Puck inside him.

Fingers are one thing; the strange sense of fullness is almost enjoyable after a while, but even with just two fingers he could feel his tight ring of muscle stretching nearly to its limit. This is…this is probably crazy, but when Puck looks up at him and raises an eyebrow, Kurt just nods and reaches for the jar of cream to slick up Puck’s cock.

“It’ll be easier if you bend over,” Puck says, like he’s an expert all of a sudden, and when Kurt remembers that he probably is, he flushes and nods. Before he can climb off Puck’s lap a hand lands on his hip to hold him still, then Puck’s leaning up and kissing him hard.

He hooks an arm around Kurt’s waist and pulls him flush against Puck’s chest, fingers grazing his feathers and making Kurt hum against his mouth and squirm in his lap. For a second he thinks maybe Puck’s changed his mind, that he wants to do it just like this, and Kurt wouldn’t mind. But the next thing he knows they’re moving, Puck’s hands on him to push him backwards and then onto his knees to brace his elbows on the mattress.

Kurt has a second to feel self-conscious about being on display like this before Puck’s hand slides down his back, knees easing Kurt’s legs a little further apart and his hand landing on Kurt’s ass to pull him open.

“Damn, that’s hot,” Puck says, and Kurt’s blushing again, but his wings are spread and fluttering, and when a hand strokes down his feathers Kurt thinks that might be what Puck’s talking about.

Puck’s fingers dig in, following the line of Kurt’s wing until Kurt’s making a noise that sounds a little like a purr and pushing back against him. When he feels Puck’s cock slide against his ass he tenses, but Puck’s hand keeps stroking through his feathers and he’s making soft noises in his throat, and before Kurt realizes what’s happening Puck’s pushing inside him.

The stretch is uncomfortable in a way that Puck’s fingers weren’t, and when his breath catches and his fingers curl around the sheets underneath him, Puck stops moving. Both his hands are on Kurt’s wings now, sliding along the ridges and pushing his thumbs into the soft down just under the bone.

Slowly Kurt starts to relax, muscles unclenching to let Puck in a little further. He bites down hard on his arm, fighting to keep quiet so his dad doesn’t come up to investigate and walk in on something he can’t unsee. But thinking about his dad right now definitely isn’t helping him relax, so Kurt focuses on the feeling of Puck’s hands stroking along his wings and his cock pushing slowly inside him.

He’s not sure how long it takes before Puck’s all the way in; moments, probably, but it feels as though time has stopped somehow. His thighs are shaking and he’s not sure how he’s holding himself up, but when Puck’s hands find the joints of his wings and press against the spot where they meet his back, Kurt groans and pushes back to meet him.

That’s all Puck needs to start moving, slow at first and then faster, rocking his hips in time with Kurt’s backwards thrusts. His hands are still buried in Kurt’s wings, pushing through his feathers carefully, and Kurt would admire his concentration if his brain hadn’t melted out his ear when Puck pushed inside him. As it is, all he can do is feel, rocking back against Puck, and it still hurts a little, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting more.

More and more, and when Puck leans forward and presses a kiss between Kurt’s shoulder blades, he moans and pushes back even harder. Puck’s arm slides around his waist for the second time, then Kurt’s being pulled backwards, his head falling back onto Puck’s shoulder and leaning hard against his chest.

His wings are spread wide to let Puck press close, mouth on the side of Kurt’s neck and his thrusts are more shallow now, but he’s hitting that spot over and over. Puck’s hand closes around Kurt’s dick, gripping hard and letting Kurt thrust up into his hand, rocking between Puck’s cock and his fist. It’s way too much, and when Kurt feels heat coiling tight in his stomach his wings curl around Puck’s shoulders without his permission.

He tries to coax them open, but before he manages Puck’s mouth leaves his neck to whisper in his ear. “It’s cool. I like them.”

Kurt parts his lips to answer, but all he manages is a soft sigh, his wings fluttering softly against Puck’s skin. He thinks he should be embarrassed, but Puck doesn’t seem to mind, and when Puck’s grip twists a little and his thumb slides across the head of Kurt’s cock, he clenches hard around Puck and comes.

Puck thrusts up one last time, hard, then he tenses against Kurt, his arm tightening around Kurt’s waist as he lets go too. He’s breathing hard against Kurt’s neck, still trapped in the circle of Kurt’s wings, and for a second Kurt wishes they could just stay like this. He knows as soon as Puck moves things will be weird again, that his brain will turn back on and he won’t be able to stop the worry from crowding in.

He’ll have to start thinking about doctors and his dad and why Puck’s doing all this in the first place, about what’s going to happen if he’s stuck with his wings forever, and what’s going to happen if he’s not. His wings droop a little at the thought, slipping from around Puck’s shoulders, and a second later Puck pulls out of him.

Kurt winces at the sensation, biting his lip to keep from making any noise as Puck presses one last kiss to the side of his neck and then climbs off the bed. Kurt collapses onto the mattress, stretching out on his stomach and closing his eyes as he listens to Puck moving around in the bathroom. 

The mattress dips next to him before Kurt’s ready, then Puck’s hands are on him again, curving around his back and tracing the ridges of his wings. He doesn’t want to like it, doesn’t want to lean back into it, because he still doesn’t know what any of this _means_. But Puck’s hands are warm and familiar, and Kurt finds himself rolling onto his side to curve against Puck’s chest, and if he lets Puck hold him for a little while, it’s not really hurting anyone.

~

Kurt waits until Puck falls asleep, steady breath against his neck and the warm weight of Puck’s arm draped around his waist making it hard to wiggle out from under him without waking him. But Puck’s a fairly heavy sleeper, as it turns out, so Kurt manages to climb out of bed undetected, crossing to the bathroom to clean up a little before he pulls his clothes back on.

He’s moving a little slower than usual, and he’s just as glad that Puck’s asleep so he won’t witness the way Kurt winces every so often when he turns the wrong way. Then again, there’s a good chance he’ll be able to feel Kurt’s discomfort anyway, and the thought alone is enough to make Kurt blush all over again.

For a moment or two he stands at the end of the bed and just looks at Puck, naked and completely unself-conscious, and Kurt knows it wouldn’t be any different if he weren’t fast asleep. And he knows Puck wants to be here -- if nothing else, he believes at least that much -- but there’s still the lingering feeling in the back of Kurt’s mind that he should feel guilty about it.

There’s the way things worked out with Blaine, sure, and the amount of worry and stress he’s putting his dad through, when they all know he’s never going to be a hundred percent out of the woods when it comes to his heart. But worse even than both of those is the nagging worry that somehow he’s keeping Puck here against his will, that he’s got it in his head that he _can’t_ leave, not as long as Kurt needs him.

He doesn’t want to be someone’s charity project. He doesn’t want Puck sticking around out of some misplaced sense of obligation, no matter how much it would hurt Kurt if he did leave. And it would hurt, both physically and emotionally, which is the part Kurt’s having the hardest time with.

He didn’t expect to have _feelings_ for Puck, especially considering their history. Then again, he never would have predicted that Puck would be attracted to him in any way, yet there he is, spread out in Kurt’s bed like he belongs there. The thought makes Kurt’s heart flutter in time with his wings, and he feels them trying to propel him forward, back into bed to curl around Puck and breathe in as much of him as he can.

Kurt turns away before he gives in to the urge, pulling his bedroom door open and then closing it behind him, leaving Puck alone to drool on his pillow and dream about football or sex or being a rock star. His wings flutter again, disgruntled at not getting their way, and Kurt rolls his eyes and ignores them as he makes his way downstairs.

He finds his dad in the living room, a beer in one hand and the remote in the other, and Kurt watches him flip through channels until he lands on an old episode of _Deadliest Catch_. Kurt laughs under his breath and crosses to the couch, curling into the corner and smiling when his dad looks up at him.

“Someday you’re going to announce that you’re retiring to spend the rest of your days fishing in Alaska, aren’t you?”

His dad laughs and sets his beer down, then he turns down the volume and looks over at Kurt. “I don’t think I’m really cut out for that job. I have thought about taking Carole up there, though. They have these cruises on the Bering Sea, and after you can ride a train across Canada. She’d probably like that.”

Kurt smiles at the thought of his dad and Carole becoming one of those couples that go on cruises, raiding the midnight buffets and playing tourist in every port and sending back postcards with palm trees on them to let Kurt know how much fun they’re having. Because of course he’ll still be here, stuck in the house like Mrs. Rochester, the secret everyone knows about but no one discusses.

“Where’s Puckerman?” his dad asks, gaze carefully trained on the screen again as one of the crews pulls a mostly empty crab pot aboard.

“Sleeping,” Kurt answers, and it doesn’t have to mean anything, but he blushes anyway.

His dad nods and reaches for his beer again, and Kurt tells himself it doesn’t mean anything. There’s no reason for his dad to know what they were doing before Puck fell asleep; Kurt’s fairly sure they managed to be quiet, at any rate, and besides, his dad’s the one who assumed there was something going on between them and let Puck move in anyway.

“You thought any more about what the doctor said?” his dad asks, looking away from the TV long enough to watch Kurt shrug.

“A little. Puck thinks it’s a bad idea.”

His dad raises his eyebrows at that, but he doesn’t comment. Instead he sets his beer back on the table and turns back to the TV. “What do you think?”

“I understand why he doesn’t want me to do it,” Kurt answers, though he knows that’s not what his father meant. His wings flutter behind him, making it clear that they’re on Puck’s side, and Kurt swallows a frustrated sigh and leans back against the couch cushions to trap them in place.

“Listen, son, I appreciate what Puckerman’s doing for you and all, but it’s not his decision. If you want to go hear what this doctor has to say...”

“How would we even get to Seattle?” Kurt interrupts, Puck’s words echoing in his head. “It’s not as though I can fly commercial.”

“Being a Senator comes with some perks. If you want to see this guy, we’ll get you there.”

“Our taxpayer dollars at work?” Kurt says, smiling when his dad laughs. “It’s not that I _want_ to be stuck with wings forever. But even if this doctor can remove them, we have no idea what will happen. What if it makes things even worse?”

 _What if they take them off and even Puck can’t touch me anymore?_ he doesn’t say. _What if he doesn’t_ want _to?_

He’s fairly sure his father hasn’t developed the ability to read his mind, but he frowns as though he knows what Kurt’s thinking all the same. Maybe it’s just because he’s known Kurt his whole life, or maybe Kurt’s just gotten really bad at hiding his feelings since he sprouted a pair of wings, but somehow he can tell his father knows he’s thinking about Puck. Somehow he knows this all boils down to the two of them, and there’s no way Kurt can make a decision without him, no matter what his dad says.

“You’re going to have to be the one to decide if that’s a risk you’re willing to take,” his dad says, then he sighs and turns back to the TV. “It’s your life, son.”

Kurt’s pretty sure that what his dad means is that it might be his only chance to _have_ a life. He might even be right, and there’s a huge part of Kurt that wants to take it. But taking the chance that this might give him his life back means taking another, even bigger chance that he’ll lose what he’s already got, and he’s not sure it’s worth the trade-off.

~

When Puck wakes up, Kurt doesn’t mention the conversation with his dad. He doesn’t want to start another argument, and anyway they’ve both already said everything there is to say. Puck likes his wings; whether it’s because he’s the only one who can touch them, or if he’s developed a fetish, Kurt isn’t sure, but whatever the reason, Puck wants them to stay. He’s made that much perfectly clear, so Kurt doesn’t see the need to point out that his father’s already worked out a plan to get them to Seattle the minute Kurt says the word.

If Kurt’s quieter than usual at dinner no one seems to notice; he hasn’t had much to say recently anyway, considering he never leaves the house unless it’s to go see a doctor. Besides, the closer they get to the day Finn leaves for basic training, the quieter everyone’s gotten, and Kurt knows his dad and Carole have more to worry about than just his strange predicament. They’re supposed to be moving to D.C. in the fall, and no one’s brought it up since graduation day, but Kurt has a feeling those plans are on hold, at least until he figures out what he’s going to do.

After dinner Finn and Puck commandeer the living room television for some kind of video game marathon, and Kurt sticks around to watch for awhile, trying to pretend everything’s normal. But there’s only so much of watching the two of them blow things up that he can stand, and finally he excuses himself and goes to bed early.

He’s not sure what time it is when Puck finally follows him upstairs, but he’s still awake when the bedroom door opens, and when Puck shuts off the bathroom light and slides under the covers, Kurt turns onto his side and presses his cheek to the warmth of Puck’s bare chest. Puck’s arms slide around him, heavy against his waist and brushing the bottom of Kurt’s wings. He feels Puck’s lips brush the top of his head, and Kurt has to squeeze his eyes shut and wait for his heart to stop racing.

“If you stay,” Kurt says, grateful for the darkness, because he’s positive he wouldn’t be brave enough to say this in the daylight, “If you stay, and if I don’t go to Seattle, what happens then?”

Puck’s arms tighten around his waist as though maybe he’s expecting Kurt to try to pull away. As though he can keep Kurt with him if he just holds on hard enough, and Kurt swallows hard and turns his face a little further into Puck’s neck while he waits for an answer.

“Guess we can’t stay here forever. Your dad’s been pretty cool about letting me crash here so far, but even he’s probably got his limits. And there’s no way my mom’s letting us move in, unless you can get knocked up now too.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Kurt mumbles against his skin, feels Puck’s answering laugh vibrate in his chest.

“So I guess that means we’re going to have to think about getting our own place eventually. I’ve pretty much blown most of the pool cleaning season already, but it’s not like it ever brought in all that much money anyway.”

“You want to…move in together.”

“I figure we’re already kind of living together, right?” Puck says, but he doesn’t sound quite as sure as he was a few seconds ago.

And the thing is, Kurt doesn’t hate the idea. He knows he should; it’s way too soon, and they don’t know anything about how long this thing between them will last. But Kurt once promised Blaine they’d last forever, and that hadn’t worked out so well, so maybe his chances with Puck aren’t any worse than anybody else’s.

Besides, Puck’s right that they can’t stay here forever; he knows his dad won’t ask him to leave, but it’s impossible to say how long he’ll put up with Puck hanging around and sharing Kurt’s bed. He knows his dad didn’t love the idea to begin with, and if he refuses to see this specialist because Puck doesn’t want him to, that’s probably going to get worse.

That doesn’t mean that moving in together is the answer, especially when Kurt has no idea what he’s going to do with the rest of his life, and Puck doesn’t have much more direction than he does. He can’t expect Puck to support him, to pay all the bills while Kurt stays hidden away in some cheap apartment like a 1950s housewife. Technically they’re not even dating, and Kurt wants to laugh at the thought, because it’s so absurd, but instead he bites his lip and leans a little further into Puck.

“My dad won’t kick us out. Not right away, at least.”

“Yeah?” Puck says, his hand moving on Kurt’s back now to drag him a little closer. “Guess that gives us some time to make a new plan.”

Kurt nods and closes his eyes to listen to Puck’s heart beat through his chest. “I suppose it does.”

He wonders how much thought Puck’s put into all of this -- it sounds as though he’s been thinking it through, at any rate -- but he doesn’t ask. Instead he focuses on the feeling of Puck’s fingers pushing through his feathers, slow and deliberate, taking pains not to bend them in the wrong direction. Kurt shivers against him and buries his face in Puck’s neck, mouth open against his pulse point and scraping his teeth along Puck’s skin.

The grip on his feathers tightens for a second before Puck forces his fingers to relax, and Kurt hears the way his breathing changes. He mouths his way up Puck’s neck and along his jaw, one hand braced against the center of Puck’s chest as Puck turns into him and presses their lips together.

Instantly he’s overwhelmed with the need to be as close to Puck as possible, some magnetic force pulling them together and making him push for more. And Puck lets him, lets Kurt push him back against the mattress and slide a knee between Puck’s thighs, arms around Kurt’s waist and rocking them together while they kiss.

Puck’s hands are everywhere, sliding along his wings and his skin, down to his ass and making Kurt hiss against his mouth. Pulling Kurt closer and closer, as though he’s just as desperate for contact as Kurt is, and no matter how hard Puck kisses him or how tight he holds on, it’s not enough.

“Kurt,” Puck murmurs, over and over against his mouth, and every time he hears it Kurt’s wings stretch and flutter behind him.

He’s not sure which of them comes first. He doesn’t remember making the decision to close his hand around Puck’s cock, doesn’t know how long they rock together, Puck’s hand keeping rhythm with Kurt’s own, until they’re not kissing so much as sharing air, foreheads pressed together and wet heat coating hands and stomachs.

Puck catches his breath first, leaning up to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to the side of Kurt’s neck. He kisses Kurt’s jaw, then his lips, and when Kurt opens his mouth Puck takes the invitation gladly. He lets Puck ease him back onto the mattress, wings folded tight against his back and his arms around Puck’s neck to pull him close, never breaking the kiss as Puck stretches out on top of him.

He knows if they don’t stop long enough to clean up they’re going to stick together, but he can’t bring himself to care when Puck’s still kissing him like he needs this to breathe. Like he needs Kurt just as much as Kurt needs him, and it’s a crazy thought, but that’s exactly how it feels, and Kurt desperately wants to believe it.

~

They don’t wake up stuck together, exactly, but there’s dried come on Kurt’s stomach, flaking and itchy and he makes a face and rolls away from Puck to frown down at it. His pajamas are long gone, though he has no memory of taking them off, and his head’s a little fuzzy, as though he’s been drinking.

Kurt sits up on the mattress, pulling out of Puck’s grip completely and stretching his wings behind him, but there’s a weird pull in some of the feathers on the right side, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t reach the spot that’s giving him trouble.

He’s still trying when Puck wakes up, blinking and sitting up to lean in and brush his lips against Kurt’s neck. “Babe, what are you doing?”

“There’s something wrong with my wing,” he says, frowning and twisting a little harder to try to see the damage. “It feels like some of the feathers are...stuck.”

He’s still got a grip on the tip of his right wing, holding it in place as he tries in vain to turn far enough to see the problem. When Puck’s hands push his away Kurt lets out a frustrated breath, but Puck can certainly reach better than he can, so Kurt surrenders to his touch. His fingers push through Kurt’s feathers carefully, but when they reach the spot in question and try to separate his feathers, Kurt feels a dull tug.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Puck says, fingers moving more gently this time, but after a few seconds he stops and clears his throat. “Uh.”

“What?” Kurt asks, panic rising in his throat, because honestly, it’s bad enough he has _wings_ without them mutating on him or something. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, relax. It’s just...I think maybe I touched your wing last night, after you came on my hand. Your feathers are kind of...stuck together.”

Kurt feels his whole face flush, and when Puck snickers behind him Kurt elbows him in the stomach. “It’s not funny.”

“Come on, babe, it’s kind of funny,” Puck says, rubbing his stomach, but his abs are made out of Teflon, so Kurt’s pretty sure he didn’t even feel it.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to wash these stupid things?” Kurt asks, pulling out of Puck’s grip and climbing off the bed. His feathers flutter behind him, but it feels weird when some of them can’t move, and he rolls his eyes and heads for the bathroom.

Puck catches up with him just as he turns the shower on, arms sliding around his waist and pressing what Kurt assumes are apologetic kisses to the back of his neck. They feel nice, at any rate, and Kurt sighs and lets Puck steer him under the water.

“How do you wash them, anyway?” Puck asks, hands on Kurt’s back and letting the spray hit his wings.

“I’ve tried a few different things, but it’s been hard to reach them. They mostly seem to take care of themselves, but I can’t really tell if I’m keeping up with them.”

Kurt twists his head and tries to watch as Puck runs his hands over the damp feathers, fingers spreading them gently as he gets close to spot where they’re stuck together with Kurt’s come, apparently. He makes a face and turns away again, head down and eyes falling closed to focus on the way Puck’s touching him.

“So are you supposed to use soap or what?”

Kurt blushes, and he’s glad he’s not facing Puck now, because he can’t face Puck when he admits that he’s actually researched this. “Apparently you’re only supposed to use fresh water. That’s how people bathe their parrots, anyway.”

“What’d you do, buy a book or something?”

He hears Puck’s soft snort of laughter, but his fingers are moving carefully through Kurt’s feathers, working them apart until Kurt can’t feel them pulling at all anymore.

“Of course not. I googled it,” Kurt says, stretching his wings experimentally. They feel a lot better, so he doesn’t complain when Puck leans forward to rest his forehead against Kurt’s shoulder. That is, until he feels Puck shaking, and Kurt scowls and shrugs him off. “I’m glad you find this so amusing. There’s no precedent for this, what was I supposed to do? You try living with a pair of wings and see if you do any better.”

“No way, babe,” Puck answers, hands back on the ridges of Kurt’s wings to stroke along his feathers. “I don’t know anybody else who could pull off this look.”

Kurt’s feathers bristle under Puck’s touch and he feels himself tense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Puck sighs against his neck as he pulls Kurt a little closer, hands leaving his wings to rest on his hips. “It means you’re the only person I know who’s badass enough to pull off wings. You _rock_ this look, babe. I wish everybody could see it.”

Kurt’s pretty sure Puck’s just sucking up now, but he can’t quite hold back a snort of laughter. And maybe there would have been a time when he could have made wings look amazing, but now that he doesn’t have a choice, it’s a little harder to see the humor in the situation. As it stands, he can only get away with this ‘look’ one day a year, and even on Halloween he’ll have to worry about people accidentally touching him.

Puck’s mouth is moving against his neck again, sucking slow kisses into his skin until Kurt’s breathless and leaning back into him. It’s not necessarily leading anywhere. It _could_ ; Kurt knows all he has to do is turn around and slide his arms around Puck’s neck and they could both forget about conversation for a while longer. Instead Kurt covers the hand that’s resting on his stomach, fingers sliding through Puck’s and holding on.

“What if I did go to Seattle?”

“What do you mean?” Puck asks, and Kurt feels the way he tenses. 

“You know what I mean. You said if I didn’t go that we’d be...together. That if nothing changes you’ll stay. But what if the doctor could remove them? What if they were gone and everything else went back to normal?”

Puck lets out a heavy sigh against his neck, then he lets go, and Kurt has to force himself to turn around and face Puck. When he sees Puck’s expression he wants to take it back, but he needs to know, so instead he crosses his arms over his chest and waits.

“What, you think I’d bail? What the hell, Kurt?”

“I’m just asking,” Kurt says, but he can hear the edge in his voice, so he knows Puck can hear it too. 

He reaches over to shut the water off, because the last thing they need is for his dad to come up to yell at him about wasting water and find them naked and having some kind of stand-off in the shower. Puck doesn’t even seem to notice; he’s too busy staring at Kurt like he can’t decide whether to walk away or just shake him really hard.

Personally, Kurt would prefer neither. What he wants is for Puck to tell him it wouldn’t make a difference, that he doesn’t understand why any more than Kurt does, but somehow the feelings that were foisted upon him by Kurt’s wings became real. Only Puck’s never been all that eloquent, so Kurt’s not surprised when all he comes up with is, “Seriously, what the fuck?”

Kurt heaves a sigh that probably sounds irritated, but the truth is he’s just tired of wondering. It hasn’t even been that long since this thing between them started, but already Kurt’s lost all control of his feelings, and he needs to know that Puck’s in just as deep as he is.

The problem is that he can’t think of a way to _say_ all of that without humiliating himself, and the longer the silence stretches out, the more positive Kurt is that Puck’s going to turn around and walk out right now. Then it won’t matter what decision Kurt makes about his wings, because Puck will be gone either way.

“Puck…”

His voice breaks on the single word, and he claps a hand over his mouth and holds back a sob. He doesn’t even know why, but once it starts he can’t stop it, and he reaches up to wipe angrily at his eyes.

“Are you crying?”

“I’m fine,” Kurt lies, because Puck still hasn’t answered him, and there’s no way Kurt’s going to admit how much this means to him until he knows where he stands.

“The hell you are,” Puck says, and when Kurt hears the tightness in his voice he remembers that Puck can feel it when he’s upset. And that’s just great, because Kurt can’t even die of humiliation in private anymore.

He waits for Puck to freak out, to make up some excuse and make his escape before Kurt really falls apart. Instead Puck moves forward, then his hands are on Kurt’s shoulders and he’s tugging, pressing Kurt against his still-wet chest and wrapping strong arms around him.

“I told you already, this is real. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But…”

“No,” Puck says, pushing the word out through gritted teeth. “I don’t _want_ to bail, babe. So unless you tell me to get out, I’m staying.”

Kurt feels his breath hitch, so he presses his forehead against Puck’s shoulder until he regains enough control to talk without losing it again. It takes longer than he’d like, but Puck’s hands are moving on him the whole time, stroking slowly through his feathers until they stop fluttering frantically and settle down.

“I want you to stay,” he finally answers, then he takes one last deep breath and looks up.

“Good,” Puck says, voice low and rough and sending a shiver straight down Kurt’s spine. Then Puck leans in and kisses him, wet and dirty and by the time he lets Kurt up for air they’re both panting. 

Puck’s hands are still buried in his wings, fingers pushing the feathers apart and stroking through the soft down. Kurt feels it in his whole body, every nerve ending on fire and all he wants to do is push forward and press himself against Puck from his mouth to his knees. He knows for a fact Puck wouldn’t mind, but when he tries to move Puck’s grip on his wings tightens to hold him in place.

“Please don’t let them do anything to your wings,” Puck says, voice wrecked and desperate, and Kurt’s heart aches at the sound. “I’ll do whatever you want, I don’t care, just don’t let anybody else touch them, okay?”

Before he even finishes Kurt’s nodding, pressing forward to brush kisses against Puck’s lips and his cheek. He hears the shaky breath Puck takes in, but instead of pulling back and asking if he’s okay, Kurt just kisses him again.

“I won’t,” he whispers, and “I promise,” and he doesn’t doubt for a second that he means it.


	5. Chapter 5

Eventually they actually finish their shower. It takes a while, between Puck’s wandering hands and the fact that Kurt can’t seem to stop kissing him, but eventually they manage to clean themselves up and climb back out of the shower again.

Nothing’s changed, really. Kurt still has a pair of very inconvenient, very _visible_ wings, and even if he eventually figures out a way to cover them, he still can’t go out in public without fear of being touched by someone who isn’t Puck. He still has no idea what he’s supposed to do with his life, or even what Puck’s going to do with his.

But they’re in it together, and it turns out that makes all the difference. Kurt’s happier than he’s been since before all this started, at any rate; he hasn’t felt like this since those few fleeting seconds when he thought he might actually have gotten into NYADA. Before his carefully laid plans came crashing down around him, and then he woke up with wings and his whole world collapsed.

Then _Puck_ came along, of all people, and it didn’t really fix anything, except that it did. It changed Kurt’s whole outlook – of his future and even his past – and he still doesn’t know what’s going to happen to them, but he doesn’t mind so much anymore.

“What?” Puck asks, his head emerging from the t-shirt he’s pulling on, and Kurt flushes when he realizes he’s been staring again.

“Nothing,” Kurt answers, but his wings flutter behind him, and when Puck smirks Kurt knows he sees it. “I should tell my dad that I’ve made a decision. About the doctor.”

“Yeah,” Puck says, his smirk fading as quickly as it appears. “You wanna talk to him alone, or...?”

For a moment Kurt thinks about letting him off the hook. But they spent a lot longer in the shower than he planned, which means his dad and Carole and even Finn are probably all eating breakfast, and Kurt will have an audience either way.

“Honestly,” he says instead, rolling his eyes, “he’s not going to be upset about it. He’s made it clear since the start that it’s my decision.”

“Yeah, but you said yourself you thought he kind of wanted you to go through with it.”

“Even if that’s true, he’s not going to hold you responsible.” Kurt closes the distance between them to curl his fingers in the front of Puck’s shirt, dragging him forward and planting a firm kiss on his lips. “Trust me.”

The sound Puck makes tells Kurt he’s not feeling all that trusting, but he lets Kurt kiss him anyway. His hands slide up Kurt’s back to trace the joints of his wings, distracting him in all the right ways, and Kurt sighs against Puck’s mouth and forces himself to pull away.

“We should go out later,” Puck says, breathing the words near Kurt’s ear, and when Kurt tenses against him he pushes his fingers through Kurt’s wings. “Tonight, when there’s less chance anybody will see these. We can drive out to the lake and make out in that bigass car of yours.”

Kurt considers asking how that’s any different than staying in and making out right here, but he hasn’t been anywhere but the hospital since all this happened, and the thought of going out at all is appealing, even if it’s just to the lake to look at the stars. Still, the idea of getting out of the house at all seems too good to be true. “What if...?”

“Trust me,” Puck says, his smile curving against Kurt’s mouth when Puck leans in to kiss him again.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but he can’t quite hide his answering smile. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“It would be nice to get out for a while,” Kurt says, ignoring the nervous flutter in his stomach at the thought of actually going somewhere he might be spotted.

It’s not a foolproof plan or anything, but it’s a lot safer than trying to navigate the Lima Bean or a Warbler party with Blaine. The fact that Puck’s put thought into the safest way to get him out of the house is sort of comforting. It’s still a risk, but it’s one he’s going to have to take sooner or later, unless he really does want to end up like the proverbial madwoman in the attic.

They find his dad in the kitchen, still sitting at the table sipping coffee with Carole. Finn’s nowhere to be found, but Kurt figures that’s for the best, considering. He pours cups of coffee for himself and Puck, then he takes a seat at the table next to Puck and looks at his dad.

“I’ve decided not to meet with the specialist,” Kurt says, and when his dad raises his eyebrows, he feels Puck tense next to him.

“It’s your decision, son,” his dad says, but Kurt doesn’t miss the look he exchanges with Carole. “But you know there’s no harm in hearing what he has to say.”

“There is, though,” Kurt answers, stealing a glance in Puck’s direction. “It’s not just me it hurts when someone touches me. Puck can feel it too.”

His dad opens his mouth, then he closes it again, and Kurt feels the tips of his ears start to burn. But it’s the truth, and it’s not as though his dad hasn’t already heard as much from the doctors. 

“I get what you’re saying,” his dad finally says, but he’s still looking at Puck like he doesn’t really believe it. “But if they could do something to make things easier for you, isn’t it worth it?”

“It’s not just the pain,” Puck says, surprising both of them into looking over at him. “I mean yeah, that sucks, but if that was it we could deal. It’s just…what if something goes wrong, you know? Seems like it’s not worth taking the risk just so he can wear shirts again.”

As soon as he stops talking he looks like he wants to run, and Kurt reaches over without thinking and grabs his hand. Puck looks a little surprised, but he curls his own fingers around Kurt’s and holds on anyway.

Kurt knows better than to tell his dad that Puck actually _likes_ his wings. There’s no way he’s going to tell his dad why, for one thing, and anyway it doesn’t really matter. The fact remains that getting rid of them wouldn’t solve the problem, because Kurt still wouldn’t be able to go out in public without serious precautions.

He expects his father to argue some more, so Kurt’s just as surprised as Puck when his dad just nods and looks at Carole again. “Like I said, it’s up to you, son.”

“Honey, I think I’ve finally got a shirt design that will work for you,” Carole says, smiling at Kurt across the table. “Noah can help you try it later.”

“Thank you,” Kurt says, managing not to wince at the thought of whatever fashion travesty he’s in for. It will be worth it if it means he can leave the house without worrying about people staring, even if it’s just to drive out to the lake with Puck.

“So Finn tells me you’re looking to find a job,” Kurt’s dad says, but when Kurt looks over his dad’s not looking at him. Instead he’s staring at Puck, and the hand on his squeezes just a little tighter as Puck nods.

“Yeah…uh, yes, sir.”

“Call me Burt, son,” his dad says, then he lifts his coffee cup and looks at Puck over the rim. “With Finn going off to basic training I’m going to be down a man at the shop. I’d be willing to give you a shot, if you’re interested.”

“I don’t know anything about cars.”

“Neither did Finn. But Kurt’s been working in the garage since he was tall enough to see over a hood. I figure he can make himself useful teaching you the basics when the shop’s closed, and when we’re open I can take over.”

He’s offering Puck a job, but more than that, he’s offering Kurt an escape. Not that working in the shop is his favorite way to spend time, but it’s familiar and safe and he’s good at it, and it means he gets to spend more time with Puck. Maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to employ Puck if he knew they were talking about moving out already, but what his dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him just yet.

“Thanks, Mr. H.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” his dad says, and Kurt knows that’s his way of making sure they both understand this isn’t a guarantee of anything. “Finn’s working a shift this morning; why don’t you ride over with him and let him show you the ropes. Then you can decide if you think you’re up for it.”

When Puck nods his dad stands up, pausing long enough to lean down and kiss Carole’s cheek. “I better head in and open up. I’ll be home in time for dinner.”

“Did your dad just give me a job?” Puck asks once he’s gone, leaning back hard in his chair to look at Kurt.

“He’s giving you a chance,” Kurt answers, but his dad’s about as likely to fire Puck as he is to kick him out of the house, so unless Puck proves himself completely useless at car repair, Kurt’s fairly sure the job’s his as long as he wants it.

He reaches over and takes Puck’s hand again, fingers sliding together and when Puck grins at him, Kurt’s heart skips a beat. His _heart_ , and he has to swallow hard and look away. When he does he finds Carole still sitting across the table, smiling at them with watery eyes, but before he can ask what the problem is she’s pushing her chair back and standing up.

“I’ll just go get those shirts for you to try.”

A second later she’s gone too, leaving Kurt and Puck alone in the kitchen. He feels as though he’s missing something important, but he has no idea what it is. Judging by the way Puck’s looking at him he hasn’t got a clue either, so Kurt decides not to worry about it. Instead he tugs on Puck’s hand until he leans a little closer, then Kurt curls his free hand around Puck’s cheek to pull him into a kiss.

“You’d better go if you don’t want Finn to leave without you,” he says, and when Puck sighs against his mouth Kurt has to swallow a shiver.

“Yeah, I guess I better,” Puck says, then he kisses Kurt again, and it’s all Kurt can do not to curl his fingers in the front of Puck’s shirt and hold on until he promises to stay.

~

Puck comes home from his first shift at the shop exhausted and on edge, with a smear of grease across one cheek that somehow makes him even more attractive than usual. And Kurt doesn’t have a grease monkey kink, thank you very much, but apparently he has a _Puck_ kink, because as soon as Puck walks in the house all Kurt can think about is getting him alone.

It’s a little unsettling, needing someone so much that he can’t think about anything else. Puck’s not even gone as long as he was the last time he left, when he went home to pout at his mother’s house because he thought Kurt didn’t want him around, but Kurt feels it even more this time, the nagging absence making his chest ache and his wings flutter restlessly.

He’s distracted enough to ignore the fact that Finn follows Puck into the house. The truth is that Kurt doesn’t care what Finn thinks, because all he can focus on is touching Puck again. The need’s been nagging at him for hours now, but once they’re in the same room again it’s overwhelming.

He’s moving as soon as the door opens, and when Puck spots him he heads straight for Kurt and catches his hand. He lets Kurt pull him up the stairs, into his room to kick his door closed and wrap his arms around Puck. Warm hands slide up his back to grip his wings, fingers pressing into the soft down at the joints and making Kurt moan into Puck’s shoulder.

“It’s getting worse,” he mumbles against Puck’s skin, turning his face into Puck’s neck to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to the tender skin just under his ear.

“Yeah,” Puck says, one hand leaving Kurt’s wings to slide into his hair. “I mean, it’s cool that your dad likes me or whatever, but it was getting kind of hard to focus by the end of the day.”

He’s pulling Kurt into a kiss before he even finishes his sentence, fingers tight in Kurt’s hair and murmuring the words against his mouth. Kurt lets out a sound that can only be described as desperate, blushing all the way to the roots of his hair as Puck pushes his tongue past Kurt’s teeth and kisses him hard.

Kurt wants to ask _why_ it’s getting worse; it should be getting better, especially now that he knows Puck’s planning to stick around. But he knows Puck doesn’t have any answers, so instead of asking Kurt just grips the front of Puck’s shirt to pull him even closer. Closer and closer, but it’s never going to be close enough, and Kurt has no idea what to do about it.

If this thing between them keeps growing stronger there’s no way Puck will be able to get through entire days at the shop without Kurt, and his dad’s not going to understand why Puck has to stop work in the middle of a shift to come home and tear Kurt’s clothes off. He thinks about negotiating conjugal visits in his dad’s office and laughs against Puck’s mouth, the sound coming out strangled as Puck pulls back to look at him.

“It should be getting better, shouldn’t it?” he says, his hands sliding down the front of Puck’s chest to toy with the hem of his shirt. “What else could it want from us?”

He realizes he’s talking about their connection as though it’s a living, breathing thing, but that’s how it’s starting to feel. As though it’s another person in the room with them, demanding more and more no matter what they give it. No matter how much they give each other, and Kurt has no idea what else he can offer Puck.

When Puck grins and slides his hands down Kurt’s back to cup his ass, Kurt rolls his eyes. But he’s blushing too, and he knows Puck doesn’t miss it. “I’m serious.”

“Couldn’t hurt, though, right?” Puck says, still grinning, and Kurt doesn’t quite manage to hold back his laugh. “Maybe we just have to get used to it, you know? We probably just need to practice being apart or whatever.”

“Maybe,” Kurt answers, but he doesn’t really believe it. Not when his wings are spread to their full width and stretching toward Puck, the tips brushing his shoulders as they try to draw Puck closer still.

“Besides, your dad’s cool with us working after hours sometimes,” Puck says, his mouth moving along Kurt’s jaw and dragging little sighs out of him. “That’ll make it easier.”

He’s fairly sure his father wouldn’t be cool with anything if he could see them like this, with Puck’s hand curved possessively around his ass and Kurt’s hands pushing up under his shirt. Puck’ mouth is working its way along his neck now, sucking bright red marks into his skin that Kurt probably won’t be able to hide, even with Carole’s hideous shirts.

Still, he can’t bring himself to make Puck stop, not when this is all he gets. He gets to hide out in his father’s house and wait around for Puck to have time for him, and every so often he gets to leave the house in the dark of night to go to the shop or the lake or somewhere else no one will see him. And he wants all that, but he wants a _life_ , too, and that’s the one thing Puck can’t give him.

“Puck…”

Puck hums against his neck, the sound vibrating all the way to his knees, and Kurt swallows hard and tries again. “Puck.”

“Yeah?” Puck says, pulling away just far enough to brush their lips together this time, and Kurt doesn’t try to stop himself from kissing Puck back.

“Nothing,” Kurt answers, and he knows he shouldn’t, because this isn’t going to solve any of their problems, but he lets Puck slide a hand into his feathers and steer him toward the bed anyway.

~

Spending the afternoon in bed with Puck doesn’t solve anything, but it makes the ache in Kurt’s chest ease up, and by the time they get dressed and go back downstairs for dinner, his wings have settled enough to lie flat against his back. He lets Puck help him with one of Carole’s shirts; it’s not the most fashion-forward choice he could make, and it feels a little strange to put on a shirt after all this time, but at least she’s managed to make sure the design doesn’t restrict his wings.

After dinner Puck helps him into a jacket that’s big enough to cover his wings without being annoying, then they climb into Kurt’s Navigator and Puck turns the air conditioning up.

“I’m driving,” Kurt says before they even get out of the house, and he expects an argument, but instead Puck just raises an eyebrow.

“You sure?”

“It’s my car,” Kurt answers, though they both know that’s not what Puck’s asking. But he just shrugs and hands over the keys, and when Kurt settles behind the wheel and squirms around to try to find a comfortable position, Puck doesn’t ask if he’s rethinking his decision.

It’s a little weird, having his wings constricted in the first place. He’s covered them with a blanket plenty of times, sure, but that’s not the same as a jacket that pulls every time he moves his arms, or the press of his leather upholstery when he slides into the driver’s seat. Still, he’s going to have to get used to it eventually, because his wings aren’t going anywhere, and he can’t spend the rest of his life stuck inside.

They make it to the lake without incident, though by the time they get there Kurt’s itchy and uncomfortable, and it’s hard to stay still. The sun’s starting to dip a little lower in the sky, spreading oranges and reds and dark purples across the horizon, but it’s not dark yet, and there are a few more cars dotted around the parking lot when they pull in.

It’s still too warm for him to get out of the car with his jacket on, but he can’t take it off, either, especially when there are other people around. The front seat of the Navigator is built for luxury, but it’s never been exactly comfortable for making out thanks to the large console between the seats. Logistically it would have been smarter to borrow the old pick-up his dad gave Finn to use when he started working at the shop regularly; the bench seat would at least let Kurt slide out from behind the wheel and lean against Puck’s shoulder while they wait for the sun to go down.

“How’s it feel?” Puck asks, and when Kurt looks over he’s looking at Kurt’s back.

“Strange,” Kurt answers, shifting against the seat again. “Like they want to move, but they can’t. It sort of itches. Not like when it first happened, but it’s still annoying.”

Puck nods and glances toward the back of the Navigator, and Kurt knows immediately what he’s thinking. There’s more room back there, and if they climb in the way back there’s no console to separate them. His windows are tinted as well, so a passerby would have to work fairly hard to look in and see them.

“Come on,” Puck says, then he’s climbing out of the car and pulling open the back door, and Kurt slides the keys out of the ignition and follows him. He glances around when he steps outside, but there’s no one watching them that he can see, so Kurt tells himself to stop being paranoid and climbs in back with Puck.

He presses the lock button on his key once he’s safely inside anyway, because there’s being paranoid, and then there’s being smart. If Puck thinks anything of it he doesn’t say; instead he slides across the bench seat and reaches for Kurt, turning him until his back’s to Puck and easing his jacket off.

As soon as his wings are free Kurt lets out a relieved sigh, and when Puck’s hands slide through them to straighten the feathers that got bent out of place while they were covered, he closes his eyes and lets his head drop forward. 

“So how was it?” Kurt asks, mostly to distract himself from the way his wings react to Puck’s touch.

“How was what?”

“Your first day at the shop,” Kurt says, turning his head to try to catch a glimpse of Puck.

When he turns, Puck leans close enough to brush a kiss across the corner of Kurt’s mouth, and Kurt turns into him to press their lips together. The angle’s a little awkward, but Puck’s hands are still buried in his wings and he doesn’t seem inclined to let go. Kurt doesn’t really want him to, not when he’s starting to suspect that his wings are what’s keeping them connected in the first place.

He still doesn’t believe that destiny or some random higher power brought them together, not the way Puck does, but there has to be _some_ reason for all of this. There has to be a reason that Kurt started dreaming about Puck’s hands in his wings before he even knew Puck could touch him, back before he realized it was Puck he was dreaming about.

“It was pretty cool,” Puck answers when he pulls back, fingers moving through Kurt’s feathers again in a careful pattern. “It’ll be better when you can go with me.”

Kurt nods and turns away, biting his lip when Puck’s thumbs find the soft down where his wings meet his back. “The shop’s closed on Sunday. We can go in for a while then, if you like.”

His only answer is a soft kiss on the back of his neck, and Kurt doesn’t quite manage to stop the sigh that escapes him. It’s not as though Puck doesn’t know how much Kurt enjoys this, but it feels selfish to keep letting Puck take care of him this way. To keep depending on him to make everything better, to ask him to give up his free time and his friends and whatever it was he did with himself before Kurt.

“There’s this party Sunday night.”

As soon as he registers the words Kurt tenses, wings fluttering under Puck’s touch, and when Puck makes a soothing noise and runs his hands along the ridges, Kurt feels himself blush.

“Oh?” he says, keeping his voice as even as he can, because it’s not as though he can expect Puck to give up _everything_. If he wants to go to some party...well, it’s no different than Blaine going out without him, and Kurt didn’t have a choice but to accept it then, either.

“Yeah. I would have mentioned it earlier, but Finn just told me about it today. I guess what’s left of New Directions is getting together at Schue’s place, one last blowout or whatever before Finn goes off to basic training. Not that it’ll be much of a blowout considering Schue’s going to be there, but everybody already knows about these,” Puck says, pausing to stroke his palms down the center of Kurt’s wings, “and they know they can’t touch you, so it should be pretty safe.”

When he realizes that Puck’s expecting Kurt to go to the party with him, Kurt feels some of the tension drain out of him, but a second later it’s right back again. “Do the rest of them know about us?”

That’s one of those things they haven’t talked about; so far it hasn’t been important, because no one besides Kurt’s family ever sees them together. Even Puck’s mother probably assumes he’s moved into their house to spend as much time with Finn as he can before he leaves, and all Blaine knows for sure is that Puck can touch him and Blaine can’t.

Up to now he hasn’t stopped to wonder if Puck _wants_ people knowing about them, or if his plans to move in with Kurt involve pretending Kurt’s just his weird, reclusive roommate until they’re behind closed doors.

But Puck’s been surprising him since this whole thing started, which is why Kurt really shouldn’t be surprised when he brushes a kiss against Kurt’s neck this time and says, “Most of them, yeah.”

“Really?” Kurt says, then he does pull away to look at Puck, turning until they’re face to face. “How?”

“Word gets around,” Puck answers, and it’s a vague enough answer to make Kurt wonder what he’s not saying. “Why? That a problem?”

“No,” Kurt says, because it’s not, at least not for him, but he expected Puck to be less than comfortable with it. “I’m just a little surprised, that’s all.”

“You sure it’s not because Blaine’s going to be there?”

“No, of course not,” Kurt answers automatically, then he frowns when he realizes he hasn’t even been thinking about the fact that Blaine’s likely to show up at a New Directions party. He’s still a member of New Directions, after all, and he and Finn got along fairly well, for the most part, so there’s no reason to expect him not to be there. Except that Kurt hasn’t heard a word from him since Blaine walked in on him and Puck; technically they never even broke up, though the fact that Kurt’s currently sharing a bed with someone else is probably a deal-breaker.

Puck’s watching him like he doesn’t really believe Kurt, and that’s just ridiculous, because it’s not as though Kurt fought to hold onto his relationship with Blaine. He’s been too busy working out his relationship with Puck, trying to figure out what it all means and whether or not any of the things he’s feeling are real.

“To be honest, I thought maybe you wouldn’t want people to know. I’m not exactly your usual type, after all.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t know as much about me as you think,” Puck says, then he drags Kurt forward to kiss him. His hand slides into Kurt’s hair to tilt his head just so, lips parting and tongue sliding along Kurt’s bottom lip to tease his mouth open.

Kurt moans into the kiss and grips Puck’s shoulders, fingers digging in to push him back against the seat. He swings one leg over Puck’s thighs and lets Puck pull him forward, hands on his hips and dragging Kurt down onto his lap to rock up against him. Kurt’s wings spread out behind him, filling up the space between the rows of seats and if anyone walked by and looked in they’d probably be able to see them.

But he can’t bring himself to care, and even if he wanted to he knows he wouldn’t be able to get them under control now. Not when Puck’s hands are sliding up his back to push through his feathers and tugging, just a little, as though he’s letting Kurt know how much he likes this. How much he likes Kurt’s _wings_ , and Kurt laughs against his mouth and pulls back to look at him.

“Sometimes I think maybe you and my wings would like to be alone.”

He expects a laugh, maybe some perverse comment about what Puck would like to do with his wings, exactly. Instead Puck’s hands leave his wings altogether, sliding down his back to settle on his hips again while he looks up at Kurt.

“I like them,” he says, fingers curling into the fabric of Kurt’s jeans and holding him there while Puck rocks up against him. “But I like the rest of you too.”

He’s not sure why he blushes. It’s not as though he doesn’t know Puck finds him attractive, or even that he enjoys Kurt’s company. He’d have to, considering how much time they’ve spent together over the summer, but that doesn’t stop heat from spreading down Kurt’s chest and all the way to the tips of his ears.

His wings flap softly behind him, heart stuttering in his chest, and if there was any room at all in the car Kurt could almost believe he’d be able to lift off the seat. He presses his hands to Puck’s cheeks, thumbs tracing the line of his cheekbones as he leans in and kisses Puck again. Slow this time, soft and open and memorizing the way Puck feels against him. The way his thighs shake between Kurt’s knees and the way he grinds their dicks together through their jeans, and even the low, tortured moans he’s making in the back of his throat.

Kurt hears Puck murmur his name and his heart beats even harder, and he knows he’s going to come in his pants right here in the back seat of his car, but he doesn’t care, because Puck’s still rocking against him and making needy noises that go straight to Kurt’s cock every time.

Puck’s not pushing for more; he seems content to rock against Kurt, hips moving in lazy circles while they kiss. He’s not touching Kurt’s wings anymore, and Kurt knows it’s his own fault for…well, sort of complaining, but he can’t figure out how to get Puck to touch them again without just coming right out and asking.

Without admitting how much he _likes_ that Puck likes his wings, how much he likes the slide of Puck’s fingers through his feathers and the way he grips the joints exactly hard enough without ever pressing hard enough to hurt. As though he knows somehow just what to do, and Kurt knows it’s impossible, but when Puck’s touching him it’s just a little easier to buy his theory about the universe wanting them together.

Puck’s fingers brush the tips of his feathers as though he can’t help himself, and Kurt swallows the shiver that rolls down his spine. 

“You can,” he whispers against Puck’s mouth. “I want you to.”

The groan Puck lets out sounds painful, but his hands slide up Kurt’s spine to grip the joints of his wings, fingers curling around them and holding on, pulling Kurt down a little harder into his lap as Puck rocks up against him.

“What’s it feel like?”

“I already told you,” Kurt says, impatient, because they’ve already had this conversation, and the last thing Kurt feels like doing is explaining all over again what it’s like to be saddled with a mostly useless set of wings.

“No,” Puck says, his fingers tightening just enough to drag a moan out of Kurt, “What’s it feel like when I touch them?”

There are a hundred ways Kurt could answer that question. A thousand, each more humiliating than the last, but every one of them would be true. Being touched by Puck is exhilarating and confusing, it’s comforting and electric and he’ll never get enough of it. It feels _right_ in a way Kurt can’t explain, in a way he knows he doesn’t have to, because Puck already knows.

But he doesn’t say any of that; he can’t, because he’s too busy gasping Puck’s name against his mouth and grinding down hard and coming in his jeans.

It should be embarrassing. It _is_ embarrassing, but even as Kurt presses his forehead to Puck’s shoulder to hide his blush, Puck’s hands are moving again, stroking along his feathers while he tries to catch his breath.

“Do you remember when I told you that I had dreams sometimes, about someone touching them?”

“Yeah, babe,” Puck answers, his voice close to Kurt’s ear.

“It was you, in my dreams. I didn’t realize until you touched them the first time, but as soon as you did, I knew it was you.”

“Told you somebody’s been trying to tell us something,” Puck says, and Kurt can’t help snorting a laugh against his shoulder. Because destiny is a ridiculous, romantic concept, but he’s the one who’s been dreaming about Puck’s hands.

He lifts his face from Puck’s shoulder and turns into him, pressing their lips together to kiss Puck slow. Puck’s still moving under him, hips thrusting lazily as though he’s not in any hurry. As though they have all the time in the world, and in some ways they do, but Kurt’s dad won’t be thrilled if they stay out until all hours without telling him.

Kurt flexes his wings until Puck’s hands slide free of his feathers, then he slides off Puck’s lap to kneel in between his thighs, hands on Puck’s jeans and looking up at him. He sees the moment Puck realizes what he’s got in mind, comprehension followed quickly by desire as Puck reaches down to tug his jeans open and pull his cock out.

Puck’s watching him through half-lidded eyes, pupils blown wide and his legs spreading a little further as Kurt pushes up on his knees and closes a hand around Puck’s erection. He strokes a few times, grip loose and just watching as Puck’s mouth drops open.

“Babe, please,” Puck says, and he sounds so _needy_ that Kurt doesn’t even think about teasing him. Instead he takes a deep breath and leans in to lick a hot stripe from the base of Puck’s cock all the way to the tip. His lips close around the head, tongue teasing Puck’s slit before he slides his lips as far down as he can go.

He hasn’t done this all that often, and he’s fairly sure he’s not that good at it. Puck’s probably been on the receiving end of much more talented lovers than Kurt, but he hasn’t complained so far, and when his hand slides into Kurt’s hair to trace the tip of his ear, Kurt thinks that maybe Puck doesn’t mind so much that he doesn’t really know what he’s doing.

His hips are moving minutely, thrusting up softly into the warmth of Kurt’s mouth as though he’s struggling not to move too fast and choke Kurt. Or maybe he’s just trying to make it last, but he’s been hard for awhile now, so Kurt’s not surprised that it doesn’t take long for his breathing to change and his hips to start moving a little more erratically.

“Fuck,” Puck murmurs, teeth clenched and his fingers tightening in Kurt’s hair for just a second before he relaxes again. “Kurt…”

He can’t tell if Puck’s trying to get his attention or just begging for more, but Kurt picks up speed anyway, cheeks hollowed to suck hard and twisting his grip just a little. When Puck moans above him Kurt’s wings stretch out, arching up over his shoulders to curve around both of them. Puck’s free hand comes up to slide along Kurt’s right wing, fingers curling around the ridge and holding on as he arches up and comes with a groan.

Kurt swallows around him, then again, pulling off just enough to keep from choking while he waits for Puck to stop shaking. His hand’s still moving on Puck’s cock, grip loose as he lets Puck slip out of his mouth and reaches up to wipe at his mouth with his free hand.

“Babe,” Puck says, voice rough, then he reaches for Kurt’s arm and drags him up until they’re kissing again. His tongue pushes past Kurt’s teeth to chase the flavor of his own come, hands sliding into Kurt’s feathers and pulling him close. “I…”

He doesn’t know for sure what Puck’s about to say. He’s not sure he’d even be able to hear it over the sound of his heartbeat, but Kurt’s not willing to take the chance. He pushes forward before Puck can finish his thought, lips pressed together and kissing Puck hard. It’s wet and messy, teeth clacking and his fingers gripping Puck’s shoulders too hard until Puck gives up on talking altogether and gives himself over to the kiss.

His hands slide down Kurt’s back to curve around his waist, dragging him close and mouthing his way along Kurt’s jaw to suck at the underside of Kurt’s chin. “Kurt…”

“We should stop at the drugstore on the way home,” Kurt interrupts, pulling back to trace his fingers over Puck’s kiss-red lips.

“What for?” Puck asks, his lips moving against Kurt’s fingertips and sending a shiver down Kurt’s spine.

“As much as I enjoy the moisturizing qualities of my forty dollar an ounce eye cream, it would be more economical to pick up some actual lube.”

“Oh,” Puck says, frowning for a second before he straightens up a little and adds, “ _Oh._ Yeah. You’re right, we should probably head back.”

Kurt laughs and lets Puck push him off, watching while Puck tucks himself back in and zips up his jeans. He spares a moment of regret that he didn’t think to stop on the way out to the lake, but when Puck sits up and reaches out to run a hand along his wing, he decides it doesn’t really matter.

“You want to drive?” Puck asks, eyeing Kurt’s jacket where it’s still lying over the middle seat where Kurt put it.

Kurt shakes his head, then he reaches for his keys and holds them up. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to the idea of letting you drive my car anyway.”

“Why’s that?” Puck asks, but he reaches out for the keys as though maybe he’s worried that Kurt’s going to change his mind.

“Because you’re going to have to drive yourself to the shop if you’re going to come home for lunch every day.”

“What’s lunch got…oh,” Puck says, eyes going a little wide when he realizes what Kurt’s saying. And it’s not a perfect solution, but it’s the best they’ve got, at least until they figure out some way to be apart for longer than a few hours.

Before Kurt can answer Puck’s pushing forward, arm around his waist and dragging him close to kiss him again. “Yeah,” he says, and “okay,” and “whatever you want, babe,” and Kurt knows without a doubt that he means it.

~

Rather than put his jacket back on and worry about accidentally touching anyone who isn’t Puck, Kurt lets him go into the drugstore alone. He comes back out with three different kinds of lube and another box of condoms, and when Kurt raises an eyebrow at him, Puck just shrugs and says, “I figured we should try a few kinds, see which one works the best.”

Personally, Kurt thinks three kinds of lube is overkill, because how different can they actually be? But as it turns out, Puck has a good point, because the first brand is too sticky and requires that they stop and reapply far too often for Kurt’s liking. Not that he minds taking their time, but it’s just not practical when Puck’s only got an hour for lunch.

Not that they spend all of his lunch hours tearing each other’s clothes off. The first time Puck comes home in the middle of the day Kurt actually feeds him, then they sit at the kitchen table talking about the junker Kurt’s dad has Puck practicing on and the problems he’s having with it. Kurt gives him some tips, and Puck nods as though he’s actually listening.

They spend almost the entire time touching, fingers brushing the back of a hand or a thigh or a forearm. Every so often Puck leans in to press a kiss to the side of Kurt’s neck, and once or twice Kurt stops talking long enough to turn into Puck and kiss him thoroughly. When Puck has to go Kurt walks him to the door, presses him up against it and kisses him hard, and when Puck finally tears himself away and slips out the door Kurt’s wings are vibrating.

He spends the rest of the afternoon feeling weirdly unsettled, and when Puck gets home at the end of the day he drags Kurt up to their room and spends the rest of the night pressing kisses to every inch of Kurt’s skin. They never make it down to dinner, and none of Kurt’s family is reckless enough to come looking for them.

Later, when Puck’s snoring softly next to him, Kurt lies on his side in the dark, hand pressed to the center of Puck’s chest and listening to their hearts beat in time with one another. It’s the first time he’s ever stayed up to watch Puck sleep, and he knows it’s ridiculous, because Puck’s right _there_ , but he can’t bring himself to close his eyes.

Kurt had hoped that seeing Puck in the middle of the day would be enough, that if he could just talk to Puck and touch him for a while, that it would be easier to get through the rest of the day alone. But it seems as though the more time they spend together, the more Kurt needs, and the thought of Puck getting up in the morning and going back to the shop makes Kurt’s chest ache even though Puck’s still lying right next to him.

The next day goes more or less the same way, except that when Puck gets home at lunchtime, he just shakes his head at Kurt’s offer of food and steers him into the living room. They spend nearly an hour making out on the couch, hands pushing under clothing to get at bare skin, and by the time Puck has to go back to work, they’ve managed to get mostly naked without ever letting go of each other.

But it’s still not enough, and when Puck leaves this time Kurt’s chest aches so much that he has to blink back frustrated tears. None of this should be happening; it should be getting easier, because he knows exactly where Puck is, and he knows Puck’s coming back. His wings don’t seem to understand, though, because as soon as Puck leaves they wilt against his back, _pining_ , apparently, and Kurt knows better than to try to talk any sense into them.

On the third day, Kurt drags Puck straight to their room as soon as he gets home. This time he _does_ tear all their clothes off, then he reaches for the lube they both like best and shoves Puck down onto the mattress to straddle his thighs. Later he won’t be able to say what comes over him; he’s never been so forward, and he’s certainly never been sure of himself when it comes to this sort of thing.

Still, Puck’s not complaining. In fact, he seems as desperate as Kurt to get as close together as possible, to make the most of the little time they have before he has to leave again. His hands are everywhere, touching Kurt’s hips and his chest and his face and finally his wings, fingers sliding through the feathers as Kurt lines himself up and sinks down onto Puck’s cock.

He hooks his hands around the back of Puck’s neck, holding on and moving fast, and he knows it’s going to hurt later, but he doesn’t care. He _wants_ to feel it when Puck’s back at the shop, hopes that maybe if he can still feel Puck on him – in him – that it won’t hurt so much when he’s gone.

Puck’s talking, things like _fuck_ and _come on_ and _you’re so fucking hot_ and Kurt blushes, but he doesn’t stop moving. His thighs feel like they’re on fire, but still he doesn’t slow down, because they don’t have much time and anyway he needs this.

“Puck,” Kurt gasps, leaning in to kiss him hard, breathing against his mouth and when Puck reaches between them and grips his cock, Kurt lets out a moan and comes in his hand.

He clenches around Puck, dragging a moan out of him, then Puck thrusts up hard one more time and lets go. It’s over way too soon, but he knows they’re almost out of time, and as soon as he thinks it the familiar ache settles in his chest again.

“It’s not getting better,” Kurt says, face pressed against Puck’s shoulder, and he’s not even sure he’s said it out loud until Puck’s arms slide around his back to hold him close.

“I know, babe,” Puck answers, turning into Kurt to brush a kiss across his forehead. Another kiss lands on his cheek, then his jaw and down his neck until Puck’s sucking hard at his skin, and Kurt doesn’t even try to stop him from leaving a mark.

“I’ll talk to my dad,” Kurt says, voice coming out breathy and strained as he tilts his head to give Puck more room to work. “Maybe he’ll let you work late tomorrow so I can come with you.”

Puck’s nodding against him, hands sliding up his back to grip the joints of his wings, and Kurt sucks in a sharp breath and clenches around the cock still buried inside him. He feels Puck moan against his neck and turns into him, pressing their lips together and kissing him hard.

It’s an empty promise, because they both know they can’t go on like this. Neither of them can have any kind of a life if they can’t even stand to be apart for a few hours, and nothing they’ve tried so far has made it any better. His father’s trying to understand, but Kurt can’t expect him to understand this when he doesn’t understand it himself. He has no idea why this is happening, why the connection’s getting more intense the closer they get to one another.

“You have to go,” he whispers, and he wants to laugh, because it’s so _ridiculous_ , but he can’t help feeling like he’s being ripped apart.

“I’ll be back soon,” Puck says, kissing his way back up Kurt’s jaw to press their lips together again.

Kurt nods and kisses him back, wings fluttering impatiently behind him, and Kurt knows it’s not going to be anywhere near enough.

~

As it turns out, hanging out after hours in the shop with Puck is kind of fun.

Kurt’s never been all that crazy about fixing cars. He’s good at it, which is why his father didn’t complain too much during high school when Kurt picked up shifts to earn money for whatever outfit he had his heart set on. But his heart’s never been in it, not the way his dad’s has always been.

Puck seems to enjoy it, though, and Kurt’s not too proud to admit that he enjoys watching Puck enjoy something he has a natural talent for. And he does; he’s not a mechanical genius or anything, but he’s good with his hands, and he’s a fast learner when he’s interested in the subject at hand.

Seeing him like this makes it worth the painful conversation Kurt had with his father in order to convince him that he should let Kurt and Puck work unsupervised after hours. Puck still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, and Kurt’s not exactly an expert, but the truth is that this was all his dad’s idea, so in the end he gives in and lets them have some time alone.

Finn tries to invite himself along, but it’s Puck who puts an end to that by telling him bluntly that he’s not invited. And it’s not as though they’ve spent the whole night making out or anything, but it’s been nice, just the two of them, fingers brushing as they pass tools back and forth. Puck’s hand rests on Kurt’s back while Kurt leans in to explain the best way to disconnect a radiator, and when his wing gets a little too close to a spot of engine grease, it’s Puck who lifts it out of harm’s way.

“Careful, babe,” he says, his fingers lingering for a moment or two before he lets go. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Can we even get grease out of your feathers?”

Kurt nods, cheeks burning, because he’s googled this, too. “Apparently dishwashing liquid works best. You know, like in the commercials with the penguins that got caught in that oil spill.”

He expects Puck to laugh, but he just nods and leans against the hood to look at Kurt. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Though I’d just as soon not have to find out how well it really works,” Kurt says, frowning over his shoulder at his wings as though they’ve personally offended him. “I suppose I could try a pair of coveralls.”

He assumes they’ll be just as irritating as the jacket he tried the other night, but it’ll be worth a little irritation to avoid having to wash grease out of his wings. Not that he hates the idea of having another excuse to shower with Puck, but he’d just as soon they didn’t have to spend it scrubbing Kurt’s feathers.

He finds his old coveralls hanging on a hook near the lockers at the back of the garage, pulling them up to his waist before he crosses back to the car where Puck’s still leaning on the hood and watching him. “Would you mind…?”

Puck pushes himself off the car when Kurt turns his back, holding up the top of the coveralls and letting Kurt slide one arm into a sleeve. He’s careful to make sure Kurt’s feathers don’t get ruffled by the fabric, and once Kurt’s got his other arm safely in the sleeve, Puck turns him until they’re face to face and reaches down to zip him up.

“Damn, Kurt.”

“What?” Kurt asks, but he’s blushing already, and when Puck leans in to kiss him, Kurt doesn’t try to stop him.

“You look hot,” Puck answers, hands on Kurt’s hips and dragging him close, and Kurt’s not about to admit it or anything, but he’s had a few fantasies that started out this way.

“In a grease-covered pair of coveralls,” Kurt says, but he’s already picturing Puck wearing a pair of coveralls of his own, and he has to admit he can see the appeal.

“Yeah.” Puck breathes the word against his neck, lips brushing his skin and his hands moving like they can’t decide where to touch first. Like they’re thinking about peeling Kurt’s coveralls right back off him again, and it’s the first time Puck’s claimed to find him attractive when he can’t see Kurt’s wings.

It shouldn’t matter, because they’re still _there_ , and it’s not as though Puck doesn’t know it. But somehow it makes Kurt feel a little better, a little less like this is all just some bizarre wing-related fetish on Puck’s part and more like he actually wants _Kurt_.

“Do you have some carefully hidden tradesman fetish I should know about?” Kurt asks, but his voice is breathy and he’s not entirely sure he wants to hear the answer.

“Huh?” Puck says, his forehead pulling down into a confused frown that probably won’t even leave wrinkles, because Puck’s going to be one of those men who keeps his looks without any effort whatsoever. The fact that Kurt might actually be around to _see_ him age gracefully makes Kurt’s heart pick up speed, and he’s too distracted by the thought to argue when Puck stops kissing him.

“Look, all I know is that it’s a total turn-on that you’re badass enough to fix an engine.”

“Finn can fix an engine too,” Kurt says. “Sort of, anyway. My dad definitely can.”

Puck rolls his eyes, then he slides his hand up Kurt’s back to rest a palm carefully against the spot just below his wing joints. “Yeah, but you’re the only one who’s badass enough to fix an engine _and_ pull off a pair of wings.”

Kurt thinks about pointing out that it’s only because he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. It’s not as though he _asked_ for wings, and if there was a way to get rid of them, he’d have done it when they first appeared. But he’s passed up a chance since then, and he’s already promised Puck that he won’t try to get rid of them, so maybe Puck has a point.

“So you’re saying that if my father had wings, you’d be dating him instead?”

“I already told you, it’s not about the wings.” Puck shrugs and lets go of Kurt, hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck. “Truth is, I wanted you before all that.”

Kurt remembers what Finn said about Puck and his tendency to develop inappropriate crushes. The word Finn used was ‘obsession’, but to Kurt it’s always seemed as though Puck only wants what he can’t have. Only he’s got Kurt now, and he’s the one with all the choices here, so maybe it’s not as simple as that after all.

“I had no idea. I didn’t even consider it a possibility,” Kurt says, and it’s the truth, but he can tell by the look on Puck’s face that it’s not what he wants to hear. “But if this was going to happen with anyone, I’m not sorry that it’s you.”

“But you wouldn’t have picked me.”

It’s not a question; they both know Kurt wouldn’t have chosen Puck, if he’d had a choice. He wouldn’t even have known Puck was an option, so maybe that’s where Puck’s destiny theory comes in. Something out there took the choice out of his hands for a reason, and Kurt still doesn’t believe in fate or God or whatever Puck’s calling it today, but he can’t deny that there’s something real between them.

“Maybe that’s why the choice wasn’t left up to me.”

Puck huffs a laugh Kurt can tell he doesn’t really mean, but he doesn’t move away when Kurt takes a few steps forward. His hands land on Puck’s arms to drag them around him, then he presses forward to brush his lips along Puck’s jaw. When Puck’s arms tighten around him Kurt lets out a breath and slides his hands up Puck’s chest to grip the front of his t-shirt.

“Puck,” Kurt whispers, face turned into Puck’s neck and mouthing the words against his skin. The arms around his waist tighten again, and Kurt sighs into his neck and breathes in the familiar scents of sweat and boy and engine grease. “Can we just go home?”

For a moment he thinks Puck’s going to say no, that he needs some time apart to try to figure out what they’re doing. But they’ve been trying to figure it out since it started with no luck, so Kurt doesn’t see how time apart will make it any better. Not when it always leaves him feeling tense and hollow and distracted, as though something’s missing that he might not ever get back.

Puck’s arms leave his waist and Kurt braces himself for the inevitable, but instead of letting go Puck reaches out to tug at the zipper on Kurt’s coveralls. “Can we keep the uniform?”

“If it means that much to you,” Kurt says, but what he means is _yes_ and _anything_ and _whatever you say_.

Though maybe Puck understands him anyway, because he grins and drags Kurt forward to kiss him hard before he answers.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, breath warm against Kurt’s lips and sending shivers down his spine. “Let’s go home.”


	6. Chapter 6

The subject doesn’t come up again over the weekend, but Kurt can feel it hovering between them, his wings fluttering nervously every time he catches Puck looking at him a certain way. The hollow, anxious feeling settles in the center of his chest and stays, even when Puck’s right there with him, and Kurt has no idea how to make it go away. 

In the past all it would take was a touch from Puck, just a kiss or a hand sliding into his feathers, and his whole body would relax. But since that night at the shop the feeling never quite goes away, and by the time Sunday rolls around Kurt’s so on edge that all he wants to do is climb inside Puck until he can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

Just a few days ago he wouldn’t have hesitated, and he would have been confident that Puck wouldn’t have any complaints at all. But Puck’s been uncharacteristically quiet since their conversation in the shop, and there’s a part of Kurt that keeps expecting Puck to announce that he’s had enough and he’s going back to his life before Kurt crash-landed in the middle of it.

Kurt wouldn’t even blame him, because it’s not as though he has anything to offer. There’s sex, sure, but Puck’s never had a problem in that department. If he left he wouldn’t have any trouble finding someone else to share a bed with, and unlike Kurt, he wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not he could touch them without causing himself severe pain.

He can leave whenever he wants, and if he feels a little of Kurt’s residual pain, it probably won’t even take him that long to learn to ignore it. The thought makes Kurt’s chest ache even more, but he does his best to ignore it and focus on the cracked radiator in front of him.

They’ve been working in the shop for a few hours now, taking advantage of the lack of customers and other mechanics around on Sunday to spend a few hours working together. Except that Puck’s mostly been ignoring Kurt, head buried in the car Kurt’s dad has him working on. He’s asked a couple questions, but other than that he’s been pretending Kurt’s not even there.

Kurt knows it’s his own fault. He just doesn’t know how to fix it, because he can’t take back any of the things he said. He can’t go back and notice Puck noticing him, and he can’t erase the fact that until he sprouted wings, he’d thought he was perfectly happy with Blaine.

He _was_ perfectly happy, but he’d had no idea what he was missing, either, and now that he knows how Puck can make him feel, Kurt doesn’t want to give it up. He doesn’t want to lose it, but he’s afraid to say the wrong thing again and finally push Puck away for good. So he keeps his mouth shut and he works on the radiator his dad never got around to yesterday, and if he glances over his shoulder at Puck a little more often than strictly necessary, it’s not hurting anyone.

“Hey,” Puck says, glancing up from whatever it is he’s doing, and Kurt drops what he’s doing and crosses the garage to stand next to him.

“What is it?” he asks, and if he presses his shoulder against Puck’s, it’s just because there’s not that much room to see what’s going on with the engine.

And okay, technically it doesn’t really matter what’s going on with the engine, because the car Puck’s working on is just an old junker his dad’s letting him practice with. But Kurt’s supposed to be helping him learn, and if Puck has a question, the least he can do is answer it.

“I was just gonna ask if you were ready to break for lunch.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, his whole face flushing, and he doesn’t miss the way Puck smirks at him. But he doesn’t pull away, either, and Kurt decides to take that as a good sign. “Sure.”

He follows Puck to his dad’s office, heading for the small fridge and pulling out the lunch Carole insisted on packing for them before they left the house. He hands Puck a sandwich and a Coke before he unzips his coveralls, easing his arms out of the sleeves and letting the fabric fall around his waist to set his wings free.

They stretch to their full length and flap hard against his shoulders, and Kurt lets out a relieved sigh and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again Puck’s watching him, his expression dark and before he knows it Kurt’s moving forward. His wings flap again, and Kurt knows by now that they’re trying to steer him closer to Puck.

It’s not as though Puck hasn’t touched him since their…well, not an argument, exactly, but that’s what it feels like. They went home that same night and Kurt let Puck peel off his coveralls, making jokes the whole time about lube jobs, and it would have been perfect if it hadn’t felt a little like they were both trying to prove that everything was fine.

He lets his wings propel him forward, taking a seat next to Puck on the couch that’s been in his dad’s office for as long as Kurt can remember. Their shoulders press together and Kurt feels his wings flutter at the contact, and when they stretch out and brush against Puck’s back Kurt doesn’t try to stop them. Puck shifts next to him and Kurt braces himself for the moment he pulls away, but instead he reaches behind Kurt to slide a hand up the center of his back.

His fingers stroke the soft down at the base of Kurt’s wings, sending little shivers of pleasure along Kurt’s wings. For a moment Puck just watches them vibrating under his touch, eyes wide as though he hasn’t seen them do it dozens of times by now. It’s sort of sweet, so Kurt doesn’t roll his eyes as he turns into Puck and presses their lips together.

“We can bail on the party, if you want,” Puck says, murmuring the words against Kurt’s mouth.

Kurt pulls back far enough to look at him, and he wants to say yes, that they should just stay home where it’s safe. Where it’s just them, except that it’s always just them, and he can’t keep asking Puck to give up everything to keep him company.

“It’s all right. It’ll be nice to see everyone.”

Just for a second Puck’s expression clouds, and Kurt wonders if that was the wrong answer. But a second later Puck blinks and it’s gone, and he tells himself he just imagined it. He must have, because the party was Puck’s idea in the first place.

Puck shrugs like it’s no big deal, but he pulls away until not even their shoulders are touching and turns back to his lunch. It leaves Kurt feeling more hollow than ever, but he doesn’t know how to say so without sounding completely pathetic, so he lets Puck pull away and he tries to pretend that it doesn’t bother him.

~

When they get to Mr. Schuester’s place most of New Directions is already there. Kurt can’t deny that he’s a little nervous about being around so many people for the first time since graduation, even if it is just his friends. But he can’t say so without admitting that there’s a part of him that wishes they’d stayed home, so he keeps his mouth shut and follows Puck up the stairs to Mr. Schue’s door.

He sort of expects Puck to ditch him as soon as they get there; he’s still more or less giving Kurt the silent treatment, brooding about something he doesn’t seem to want to talk about. But as soon as Schue opens the door and grins at them Puck’s arm slides around his shoulders, fingers absently stroking Kurt’s jacket where his wings are folded against his back.

“Guys, it’s great to see you,” Schue says, and he sounds like he means it. Kurt can’t deny that it’s sort of nice to see him too, even if it’s a little weird to be attending a going away party for his stepbrother at their former teacher’s house.

Miss Pillsbury doesn’t look quite as thrilled about the company, but Kurt suspects that has something to do with the fact that half the people in her apartment will still be attending McKinley next year. And he can see where she’s coming from, but she’s the one who agreed to marry Mr. Schuester, so she’s going to have to get used to his more-than-occasional bouts of inappropriate behavior where New Directions is concerned.

As soon as they walk in most of the room turns to look at them, and Kurt tries not to notice the way everyone’s eyes go straight to his shoulders, but it’s impossible not to see it. He doesn’t blame them; it’s natural to be curious, and most of them haven’t seen the wings since he was in the hospital for the first time, if they’ve seen them at all.

They definitely haven’t seen Puck with his arm around Kurt, holding Kurt against his side as though he’s worried that someone might try to touch him. Kurt’s fairly sure no one here would do that, at least not on purpose, but he’s grateful for the familiar weight of Puck’s arm on his shoulders all the same.

“You keeping this on?” Puck asks, hand sliding along Kurt’s jacket again, and Kurt shrugs and turns to look at him.

“I suppose we might as well get it over with.”

Puck grins at him, and for a second Kurt thinks he might lean in for a kiss. But all Puck does is let go of Kurt’s shoulders and step behind him, helping him ease his jacket off over his wings. Kurt bites back a sigh when Puck’s fingers slide through his feathers, straightening one here and there until he’s satisfied that everything’s in place.

“Thanks,” Kurt says, glancing over his shoulder to smile at Puck so he won’t have to watch their friends staring at his wings. But he can’t ignore them forever, so finally Kurt takes a deep breath and turns to face the room again.

As soon as he does they all turn away, and Kurt rolls his eyes and turns back to Puck. “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.”

“It’s not too late to bail,” Puck says, taking a step forward to rest a hand on Kurt’s waist. “We could pick up some food and drive out to the lake.”

It’s tempting, and Kurt’s about to say yes when the doorbell rings again. Schue crosses the room to pull the door open, and when Kurt glances over he finds himself staring back at Blaine. Instantly he’s aware of Puck’s hands on him, of the way they’re practically chest to chest right in the center of Schue’s living room.

It has to look at least as strange as the wings – probably stranger, because Blaine’s seen the wings more than once – and Kurt blushes and lets his hands drop away from Puck’s chest. As soon as he does Puck turns to look at the door, and when he sees Blaine he frowns and lets go of Kurt altogether.

“Puck…”

“Forget it,” Puck says, and now Kurt’s positive that he’s pouting.

He’s gone before Kurt can stop him, crossing the living room to stop in front of Brittany and Santana. If he’s trying to make Kurt jealous…well, it’s kind of working, especially when Brittany reaches out and runs a hand along his back as though she’s checking to see if Puck’s got a matching set of wings hidden somewhere.

Kurt’s wings give an agitated little flutter as he frowns at the back of Puck’s head, but if Puck can tell he doesn’t let on. He keeps his back to Kurt, anyway, laughing at something Brittany says and pretending he has no idea that Kurt’s staring a hole in the back of his head.

He feels someone stop next to him and tenses automatically, his wings folding in close as Kurt looks over to find Quinn standing next to him. She’s the last person Kurt’s expecting; the truth is he hasn’t really thought about her since graduation, and he definitely didn’t expect her to seek him out and hand him a glass of what he assumes is non-alcoholic punch.

“Thank you,” he says, accepting it carefully.

“I heard about you and Puck,” she says, her gaze straying to his wings for a second before she meets his eyes again. “I have to say, I didn’t really believe it.”

“That makes two of us,” Kurt answers, and when she smirks at him he allows himself a smile.

For a minute she doesn’t answer, and he wonders if that’s the end of the conversation. It’s possible she only sought him out for confirmation of the rumor, but if that was all she wanted then surely watching Puck smooth out his feathers would have done the trick.

“Still, it makes a weird sort of sense, if you think about it.”

When Kurt raises an eyebrow in her direction she smirks again, and he remembers why he and Quinn have never been what anyone would call friends.

“Puck needs to be needed; everyone knows that. The fact that he’s the only person in Lima who can touch you…well, that’s about as needed as he can get, isn’t it?”

He supposes he shouldn’t be all that surprised that she knows Puck so well. They share a child, after all, plus there’s that whole sordid history with Finn. For a second he’s gripped by the urge to defend Puck, to insist that wanting to be important to someone is perfectly natural. And it is, but the fact remains that she’s not wrong.

“I’d say if anyone needs anyone, it’s me,” Kurt admits, his wings fluttering indignantly when she laughs.

“It’s almost cute,” she says, and when she smiles at him, he rolls his eyes. “A little pathetic, but cute.”

Kurt fails to see the charm in the fact that Puck’s ignoring the fact that he exists, his back still to them as he talks to Finn and Artie and Sam. His wings flutter against his shoulders and he feels his face heat up, but when Quinn laughs next to him he doesn’t give her the satisfaction of looking at her.

“Look, just don’t break his heart, okay? Underneath it all he’s a decent guy, and he deserves to be happy.”

Kurt does look over at that, frowning when he realizes that she’s actually serious. “Who said anything about anyone’s heart?”

Quinn scowls at him, and when she leans closer he takes a step backwards, wings flapping to keep him from losing his balance. “Please, you’re not fooling anyone. Except maybe yourself.”

She lifts one eyebrow in that menacing way he’d never admit is actually a little intimidating, but before he can come up with an appropriately scathing response, she’s turning her back on him and crossing the room to find someone else to bully. For a few seconds Kurt watches her go, his heart beating in time with the wild fluttering of his wings as he lets her words sink in.

And it’s not as though he didn’t know that he needs Puck, or even that he likes him. They’ve proven that they’re physically compatible, and Kurt’s even come to terms with the fact that he needs Puck. But he hasn’t let himself consider the fact that maybe Puck needs him just as much, and that it might be because of more than just his wings.

“Kurt.”

He flinches at the sound of Blaine’s voice, wings drawing in close as Kurt turns to glance over his shoulder. “Blaine, I’m sorry, I have to…”

That’s as far as he gets before he’s moving forward, crossing the room to stop behind Puck. As soon as he does Finn and Artie and Sam all stop talking to look at him, and when Puck turns around Kurt’s heart lurches into his throat.

“I need to talk to you,” he says, reaching out to grab Puck’s hand. He has no idea where he’s planning to go, because this isn’t his house and he can’t very well drag Puck into Schue’s bedroom to hash out whatever’s going on with them. But his wings won’t stop fluttering, and he knows he has to do _something_ to make this right.

For a second he thinks Puck’s actually going to refuse, but before Kurt has a chance to panic, Puck shrugs and turns away from their friends. “Okay.”

Kurt pulls Puck across the living room before he can change his mind, pausing long enough to open the door and then leading Puck out of Schue’s apartment. He doesn’t think about who might see them, about the fact that his jacket’s still inside and his wings are on full display.

Once they’re outside he drags Puck down the stairs and across the parking lot, pausing long enough to unlock the Navigator before he lets go of Puck’s hand.

“Look, if you’re gonna dump me can we just get it over with?”

It takes a few seconds for Kurt to register Puck’s words, but when he does he frowns and turns to face Puck. “What?”

Puck crosses his arms over his chest and looks away, across the parking lot like he doesn’t want to meet Kurt’s gaze. “You heard me.”

“Why on earth…I’m not trying to break up with you,” Kurt says, and he knows he sounds angry, but mostly he’s just confused. Confused and suddenly aware of the fact that they’re standing outside where anyone might spot him, and he pulls the car door open and glances around to make sure no one’s watching before he climbs inside. “Puck, please.”

Puck lets out an exasperated breath, but he follows Kurt into the back seat of the Navigator. Kurt perches on the seat next to Puck, careful to avoid Puck’s sprawled legs until he figures out what he’s going to say. And that’s the thing, because he’d been so determined to talk to Puck just a few minutes ago, but now that they’re alone he has no idea how to start.

“Why would you think I was going to break up with you?”

“Give me a break, Kurt. The second Blaine walked in you couldn’t get away from me fast enough,” Puck says, scowling at a spot over Kurt’s shoulder.

“Are you serious?” Kurt says, rolling his eyes when he realizes that yes, Puck really does believe what he’s saying. “First of all, it was _you_ who couldn’t wait to get away from me so you could catch up with the cheerleading squad. And for your information, I wasn’t even talking to Blaine. I was talking to Quinn.”

Puck does look at him then, frowning in that confused way that Kurt hates himself a little for finding sort of adorable. “What did she want?”

“To gloat, mostly,” Kurt says, leaving out the part where Puck’s sort-of-ex sort of threatened him.

Puck opens his mouth to answer, but when Kurt shakes his head and moves a little closer, he changes his mind and closes his mouth again. Kurt swallows and reaches for his hand, fingers threading together and when Puck doesn’t try to pull away, Kurt takes a deep breath and forces himself to meet Puck’s gaze.

“I love you. You have to know that by now.”

When Puck’s eyes go wide Kurt can see that no, he didn’t know. Which is fair, considering Kurt didn’t really know until a few minutes ago. But now that he does it seems important to tell Puck, and if it finally scares him off…well, there’s really nothing Kurt can do about that.

“You love me.”

“Yes,” Kurt says, his wings fluttering nervously behind him, but he inches a little closer anyway. “You really couldn’t tell?”

Puck shrugs, but he tightens his grip on Kurt’s hand and pulls him close to run his other hand along the ridge of his wing. “I knew your wings had a thing for me, but I wasn’t so sure the rest of you felt the same.”

“Honestly, they’re not sentient,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes, but he can’t quite hide his grin.

“I have no clue what that word means,” Puck says, but before Kurt has a chance to define it for him, Puck’s tugging him forward to kiss him. A hand slides into Kurt’s hair, another one landing on his back to grip the joint of his wing. The kiss starts out soft, but when Kurt sighs against his mouth Puck takes the in, tongue pushing past Kurt’s teeth and dragging Kurt forward until their chests are pressed together.

“Babe,” Puck murmurs, mouthing his way down Kurt’s jaw to suck hot kisses into his neck. “I’m so damn crazy about you.”

“Good,” Kurt says, then he tilts his neck to give Puck better access. “So what do you say we blow off the rest of the party?”

“Oh, hell, yes,” Puck answers, pulling back to look at Kurt with eyes blown wide with lust. “Whatever you want.”

It’s not the first time Puck’s said that to him. It’s not even the first time he’s meant it, but it’s the first time Kurt’s really let himself believe it. Until now he’s been telling himself that none of this is real, that eventually Puck will come to his senses and realize that fate doesn’t actually exist and that he’s free to leave Kurt behind and get on with his life.

But Puck’s not kissing him like he’s planning to go anywhere, and when Kurt pulls away to breathe against Puck’s neck, Puck’s hand strokes down his feathers like he can’t bear to stop touching.

“I just want you,” Kurt says, whispering the words against Puck’s skin, and he’s not even sure Puck hears him until Puck pulls back to look at him.

“Good,” he says, voice fierce, and Kurt swallows against a shudder and surges forward to kiss him again.

“So let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” Puck says, lips brushing Kurt’s one last time before he pulls back and runs a thumb along Kurt’s jaw. “I like the sound of that.”

~

They manage to make it into the house without running into his dad or Carole, and Kurt takes Puck’s hand and pulls him up the stairs to his bedroom. _Their_ bedroom, Kurt thinks, smiling to himself as he waits for Puck to close the door.

When he does Kurt slides his arms around Puck’s neck, tugging him close and leaning in to press their lips together. The kiss starts out soft, slow and lazy, because they really do have all the time in the world, as it turns out. And Kurt’s planning to make the most of it, because wings or not, he loves Puck.

In a million years he wouldn’t have predicted any of this, but it just goes to show that maybe Puck’s theory about the universe intervening isn’t so crazy after all. It’s obvious that Kurt wouldn’t have figured it out on his own, just like it’s obvious that this is exactly where he belongs, so maybe he really did need an extra-hard shove in the right direction.

The _wings_ seem a little showy, granted, but Kurt’s been into showy for most of his life, so even that makes a weird sort of sense. He laughs against Puck’s mouth and pulls back to look at him, hand curving around his cheek and just looking for a few seconds.

“Maybe I didn’t have enough information to make the right choice when all this started,” he says, thumb tracing the line of Puck’s jaw, “but knowing what I know now, I would choose you.”

The sound Puck makes goes straight to Kurt’s cock, then Puck surges forward to kiss him hard. His hands are on Kurt’s hips to pull him even closer, and when Kurt feels Puck’s erection through his jeans he moans and drags Puck backwards toward the bed.

Together they manage to get their clothes off, tripping over shoes and leaving a trail of fabric from the door to the bed as they strip without ever letting go of one another. It’s less than graceful, and by the time Kurt’s thighs hit the bed he’s laughing against Puck’s mouth again.

Puck pulls back to grin at him and Kurt’s heart clenches at the sight, wings flapping once before they fold neatly against his back so Kurt can stretch out on the mattress and drag Puck down on top of him.

“Babe, shouldn’t we…” Puck says, hands on Kurt’s hips as though he’s thinking about dragging Kurt up off the mattress again.

Instead of answering Kurt just shakes his head, then he hooks a leg around Puck’s thighs to pull him flush against Kurt’s body. “They’re fine. Unless you really do want to be alone with them.”

Puck huffs a laugh against Kurt’s mouth and kisses him again, soft and slow and by the time he lets Kurt up for air, Kurt’s arching against him and digging his heel into the back of Puck’s leg. It gets him a low groan, the one that makes Kurt’s whole body flush, then Puck’s shifting his weight and reaching behind Kurt’s knees to push his legs up and apart.

They haven’t done this before, mostly because Puck seems to like being able to touch Kurt’s wings whenever he wants. And Kurt’s not going to deny that they’re sensitive to Puck’s touch, but right now he wants it to be just the two of them, no wings to distract him or make Kurt doubt that this is anything other than as real as Puck claims it is.

Slick fingers slide inside him, opening him up and making Kurt moan and push down for more. When he looks up Puck’s eyes are dark, his jaw clenched as though he’s working hard to hold back whatever he’s feeling. And that’s the last thing Kurt wants, so he leans up far enough to kiss Puck hard, then he murmurs _Puck, please_ against his mouth.

Puck nods and reaches for a condom, slick hands stroking his cock a few times before he lines himself up and pushes into tight heat. Kurt’s lips part on a breathy sigh, neck long and flushed and he has a feeling his feathers are going to be a mess later. He has a feeling Puck’s going to enjoy saying “I told you so,” but it’s worth it to watch Puck braced above him, muscles taut and pushing into Kurt slow.

He’s still taking his time, angling his hips a little with each lazy thrust, listening to every sound Kurt makes until he finds the spot that makes Kurt gasp and clench around him. As soon as he finds it he does it again, over and over until they’re both breathing hard, Kurt whining low in his throat and pushing down one last time to bury Puck as deep as he can get while he comes.

And now he _knows_ his wings are a mess, but he doesn’t care, because Puck’s still moving, shallow little thrusts of his hips while he waits out Kurt’s orgasm. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and Kurt grips Puck’s shoulders hard and pulls him forward until Puck’s kissing him.

He bottoms out inside Kurt, hitting that spot that’s way too sensitive now and setting off a fresh burst of sparks behind Kurt’s eyes. When he does Kurt gasps and clenches around him, and that’s all it takes to drag Puck’s orgasm out of him.

Puck collapses on top of him, heavy and solid and way too hot, and Kurt wraps his arms around Puck’s shoulders and holds on as tight as he can. His wings are stretched sort of uncomfortably, but he ignores it and lifts his chin to let Puck press his face to Kurt’s neck, sighing at the brush of warm lips against his skin. 

“Say it again,” Puck murmurs, so soft that at first Kurt’s not really sure he’s said anything at all.

“I love you.”

As soon as he says it Puck pulls back to look at him, and when Kurt sees his expression his heart pounds hard against his chest.

“Yeah, me too,” Puck says, and it’s not like Kurt didn’t already know how he felt, but hearing it out loud makes a difference anyway.

Then Puck’s kissing him again, pulling him forward and turning them until Kurt’s stretched across his chest and his wings are free. Puck’s fingers slide through his feathers while they kiss, carefully straightening them without even having to look, and Kurt knows he’s never going to get enough of this.

~

Kurt wakes to hot breath on his neck and a heavy arm draped across his waist. There’s a pleasant ache in every inch of his body, and he stretches and turns under Puck’s arm to face him. For a few moments he just watches Puck sleep, remembering the things Puck whispered last night and blushing bright and hot.

When he realizes what he’s doing Kurt laughs to himself and leans in to brush a kiss against Puck’s shoulder, but when he just murmurs in his sleep and rolls onto his back, Kurt sighs and climbs out of bed. He leaves Puck sleeping and heads for the bathroom, humming to himself as he pulls on a clean pair of pajama bottoms and goes through his morning routine.

His wings flap contentedly behind him, and Kurt rolls his eyes affectionately and lets himself out of the bathroom. Puck’s still fast asleep, so Kurt climbs back onto the bed to straddle his thighs. He leans over, letting his wings stretch out behind him as he brushes his lips against Puck’s.

For a few moments he thinks he’s going to have to resort to more drastic measures to wake Puck, but when he pulls back Puck blinks his eyes open to look up at him. “Morning.”

“Hey,” Puck says, sleepy and thick and Kurt feels it curling warm in his stomach. Puck’s hands land on Kurt’s back, sliding along warm skin to bury his fingers in the soft down of his feathers. "You going somewhere?"

He waits for the familiar rush of anxiety that comes with even the thought of leaving Puck lately, but it never surfaces. Instead Kurt just feels warm and happy, wings fluttering contentedly under Puck's touch.

"Not far. I thought I might let you sleep and go get some coffee before it's all gone."

"I’m awake now," Puck says, but his eyes are on Kurt's wings where they're still stretched behind him. "Something's different, babe."

"What?" Kurt asks, craning his head to try to see whatever Puck's looking at, but all he can see is the usual blur of white.

"Your feathers, it's like they're a different color. Paler, maybe."

Kurt's not sure it's possible to get more pale than the pure, snowy white of his wings, but when he grabs the tip of one and drags it around to look, he thinks he can see what Puck means. It's not so much that they're pale as they're...translucent. Less solid somehow, though they feel just as real as ever. They're sort of shimmery, like oil on the water's surface, and for a second Kurt wonders if he got something on them at the shop.

But if he had there would be dark streaks of oil on his feathers somewhere, and as far as he can tell, nothing’s different except that his wings have changed color.

“What now?” he mutters, exasperated, but the truth is he’s a little worried, too, because if his dad notices the difference he’ll probably try to drag Kurt back to the hospital again.

A pair of warm hands land on his hips, easing him backwards until Puck can sit up. He pushes until Kurt takes the hint and climbs off him, then Puck’s kneeling on the mattress behind him and running his hands over Kurt’s wings.

“Do they feel any different?”

“No,” Kurt answers, frowning as he focuses on Puck’s touch in case there is a difference and he just hasn’t noticed it yet. “If anything I feel better than I have. Less anxious.”

“Yeah,” Puck says, as though he already knew that, and Kurt supposed he would be able to tell. “Maybe this is supposed to happen.”

“What do you mean?” Kurt asks, glancing over his shoulder to watch Puck’s thumb slide along the ridge of his right wing.

“I’m just saying, if this whole thing happened just to clue us in that we’re supposed to be together, maybe you had to admit it before they could show up the way they’re supposed to.”

“Are you saying you think my wings changed color because I told you I love you?”

Puck’s lips brush across his shoulder when he says it, and Kurt feels a warm tug in the center of his chest edging out the panic that blossomed when he realized his wings really had changed.

“You got a better explanation?”

“I could think of a few, but yours is the least painful scenario,” Kurt admits. He’s already imagining his wings mutating again, growing until there’s no way to hide them, or worse, becoming so painful even Puck won’t be able to touch them anymore.

As soon as he thinks it Puck’s fingers slide through his feathers, then his hands leave Kurt’s wings to slide around his waist and pull him back against Puck’s chest. “Relax, babe. I’m telling you, this was supposed to happen.”

Kurt huffs a soft laugh, but the truth is that he sort of wants to believe it. He likes the idea of being destined for this -- destined for _Puck_ \-- even if it doesn’t really mean anything. His hand covers Puck’s where it’s resting on his stomach, fingers sliding together and holding on tight.

“What if they keep changing?”

Puck brushes a kiss against his neck this time, and Kurt sighs and lets his head fall back against Puck’s shoulder. “Doesn’t matter, babe. You’ll still be just as hot.”

This wasn’t how Kurt planned to start his morning, especially with his entire family downstairs. But Puck’s sucking on his neck now, the hand on his stomach inching lower and Kurt gasps and turns in Puck’s grip to kiss him. He feels Puck chuckle against his mouth, smiles in answer and doesn’t complain when Puck hooks his thumbs in Kurt’s pajama pants and slides them down his hips.

He lets Puck pull him back down onto the mattress, sprawled on top of Puck and settling between his legs to rock their hips together. It’s slow and lazy and sort of frustrating, but Puck’s hands are moving everywhere, pulling them together and murmuring Kurt’s name against his mouth and he can’t bring himself to pull away even to speed things up.

So Kurt just kisses Puck over and over, nipping at his bottom lip until Puck’s moaning and pushing up even harder against him. When that’s not enough anymore Kurt works a hand between them, sliding his fingers along the slick at the tip of his own cock before he closes his hand around Puck. It gets him another moan, then Puck’s pushing him onto his side and pulling back to stare at Kurt while he licks his palm and closes his hand around Kurt’s dick.

They come almost at the same time, mouths pressed together to swallow the sounds of more and more frantic moans until Puck tenses in his grip and thrusts hard into the circle of Kurt’s fist. His fingers close tight around Kurt’s cock, and that’s all it takes to pull Kurt over the edge, panting Puck’s name against his lips and coating his fingers and his stomach in wet heat.

Once he catches his breath Kurt reaches for the sheet to clean them off, making a mental note to find time for laundry when Carole’s not around to try to talk him into letting her do it for him. He lets Puck pull him close to kiss him again, and when Puck lets him up for air Kurt smiles and curves his hand around Puck’s cheek.

“I suppose if they turn rainbow colored at least I’ll be all set for the next Pride Parade.”

Puck snorts a laugh and runs his hand up Kurt’s back to push through the soft feathers at the joints. “You in a crowd full of gay dudes with these? I’m not sure even I could fight off that many people.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, but there’s nothing he can do about the way his cheeks flush. “You know you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Yeah,” Puck says, then he kisses Kurt again, and when his hand slides down Kurt’s back to curve around his ass, Kurt blushes harder and pulls away.

“We can’t stay in bed all day,” he says, but he wishes they could. Still, Puck’s supposed to go into the shop for awhile, and for once the thought of it doesn’t leave Kurt feeling oddly bereft.

He reaches down to tug his pajamas back up, then he climbs out of bed and looks down at Puck. His wings flutter at the sight of Puck stretched out on the mattress, but when they try to propel him forward, Kurt digs his heels in and stands his ground. “I’m going to see if there’s any coffee left.”

“What, no shower?” Puck calls after him, but Kurt just rolls his eyes and lets himself out of the bedroom. He knows as well as Puck that if they get in the shower together that he’ll definitely be late for work, and Kurt’s father might be Puck’s boss, but that doesn’t mean he’ll put up with Kurt making one of his employees late every morning.

Kurt’s smiling to himself as he reaches the kitchen, wings fluttering softly behind him at the memory of Puck’s face when Kurt told him he didn’t have to worry about other men. When he reaches the kitchen Finn’s the only one there, head in the fridge and pulling out the lunch his mother packed for him.

“Morning,” Kurt says as he heads for the coffee pot, and if he sounds a little happier than usual, he’s fairly confident Finn won’t notice.

“You left your jacket at Schue’s place, bro,” Finn says, but when Kurt looks over at him his eyes are wide. “Dude.”

Kurt frowns, because it’s just a jacket, but when he realizes Finn’s staring at a point over his shoulders Kurt forgets the jacket altogether. “What?”

“Your wings. They’re…gone.”

“What are you talking about?” Kurt asks, his wings fluttering softly behind him. He can _feel_ them, so he knows they’re still there, but he reaches out and runs a hand over his feathers anyway, just to be sure.

“I mean they’re not there,” Finn says, then he frowns and tilts his head to one side like a big, dumb dog. “There were still there last night, right? I mean, you guys bailed so early I didn’t really get a chance to talk to you, but it seemed like they were still there.”

“They’re still there now,” Kurt answers, glancing over his shoulder at the familiar blur of soft white down. He knows they’re still there, because Puck was touching them not ten minutes ago, and unless they’re having some sort of shared delusion, Finn’s the one who’s losing it here.

Finn’s still frowning at him when the kitchen door opens again, and Kurt looks up to find his dad frozen with his hand on the door. “Son?”

“See?” Finn says, gesturing toward Kurt’s back where his wings are still fluttering languidly, as though there’s nothing wrong at all. “They’re gone. Tell him.”

“They’re not gone,” Kurt says, scowling at first Finn and then his dad. “I can _feel_ them.”

His dad’s gaze shifts to Kurt’s hand where it’s still gripping his feathers, frowning before he looks back up at Kurt again. “There’s nothing there, Kurt.”

“I’m not crazy, Dad.”

“Nobody’s saying you are,” his dad says, but it’s clear by the way he’s staring at Kurt that he’s considering the possibility.

Before Kurt can answer Puck appears in the kitchen door, frowning at the sight of Kurt and his dad staring at each other across the room. “What’s the problem?”

At the sound of Puck’s voice his wings flap once, arching up over his shoulders as though they’re bent on making their presence known. Kurt watches Puck follow the movement with his eyes, and when he realizes Puck can still see them, relief grips him so hard he has to flap his wings again to keep himself from stumbling backwards.

“Puck can still see them. Can’t you?”

“See what?” Puck asks, and Kurt’s not even aware of how important it is to him that Puck _can_ see them until Puck frowns as though they’ve all gone crazy.

“Dude, his wings are gone,” Finn says, as though it should be obvious, and apparently it should, at least as far as his dad and Finn are concerned.

“No, they’re not,” Puck answers, and Kurt lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I mean, yeah, they’re a little lighter, but you can still see them fine.”

“I can’t,” Finn says, and Kurt would laugh at how put out he sounds if he wasn’t so busy being relieved that Puck can still see them.

Kurt’s not even sure _why_ he’s so happy that his wings aren’t actually gone, but he knows how much Puck likes them, and if they’re going to stick around, Puck might as well be able to see them too.

“Are you boys saying that Kurt’s got _invisible_ wings now?” his dad says, and okay, when he puts it that way, it does sound a little crazy.

But there’s no other explanation, because they can’t both be hallucinating. Kurt’s wings flutter as if in agreement, but he ignores them and takes a step forward. “I know it’s hard to believe, Dad, but they’re still there. I don’t know why no one else can see them.”

His dad nods slowly, and Kurt wonders if he’s just humoring them. “Maybe we should call the doctor again.”

“Why?” Kurt asks, the question coming out a little angrier than he planned, but he’s tired of doctors. He’s been tired of them for weeks now, and the last thing he needs is another night in the hospital spent being poked and prodded. “They couldn’t do anything when they could see my wings, so there’s no reason to think they’ll have any answers now.”

“I know you don’t like feeling like a science experiment, son, but if your wings are...invisible, then maybe other things have changed too.”

Until his dad says it, Kurt doesn’t even consider the possibility that this change in his wings might mean he can touch other people again. He steals another glance at Puck, watching his eyebrows go up before he shrugs.

“There’s an easier way to find out.”

He takes another step as he says it, then another, until he’s standing right in front of his dad. “Son, what...?”

That’s as far as he gets before Kurt reaches out, a hand landing on his father’s arm. He braces himself for the flash of pain he hasn’t felt in weeks, vaguely aware of Puck moving toward him in anticipation, but the pain never comes. He takes a breath, then another, and when it still doesn’t hurt, he reaches out with his other hand and grabs his dad’s shoulder this time.

Still nothing, and when Kurt realizes he’s touching his father with no pain at all, he lets out a laugh that catches in his throat and drags his dad into a hug. 

“Kurt?” his dad says, but his arms are already sliding around Kurt, resting right over his wings, and it’s strange that his father can’t feel them, but he doesn’t seem to realize there’s still there. “You’re okay?”

Kurt nods against his shoulder, blinking a few times against the stinging in his eyes, and when his dad pulls back to look at him it’s all Kurt can do not to drag him forward again. “Are you sure you don’t want to call the doctor?”

“I’m sure, Dad,” Kurt says, and he has a feeling he’s smiling like a moron, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I’m fine. Better than fine, honestly.”

He can tell his dad wants to argue, but he knows as well as Kurt does that there’s nothing the doctors can do. They’ve been saying as much since all this started, even while they were using him as a pincushion. Finally his dad nods, then he takes a deep breath and claps Kurt on the shoulder one last time before he lets him go.

“It’s still your call, son. But if anything else changes...”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Kurt says, and it’s not exactly true, because Puck will be the first to know, but it’s close enough to the truth. His dad nods again, anyway, then he glances at his watch.

“I need to go open up the shop. I guess I’ll see you boys there,” he says, glancing at Finn and Puck.

When they nod he lets himself out of the kitchen, and Puck waits until he’s sure his dad’s gone to turn back to Kurt. “You think he’ll still want me to work for him if you’re back to normal?”

“Mostly normal,” Kurt says, smiling when his wings flutter.

“Of course, bro, he still needs somebody to take my hours,” Finn says, reminding Kurt that his stepbrother’s still standing behind him. Kurt glances over his shoulder at Finn, watching him look between Kurt and Puck as though he’s trying to figure something out.

“Finn’s right,” Kurt says when he turns back to Puck. “He’s still leaving, and Dad’s still going to be a man down. Now that I appear to have my life back, I don’t intend to spend it fixing engines and constantly battling grease under my nails.”

He sees Puck’s slow grin, feels his ears heating up because he knows exactly how much Puck enjoys watching him in the shop, and he doesn’t need to be reminded in front of Finn. Then again, it might be worth it to spend the rest of the year working for his father if Puck’s going to keep looking at him that way, and when Kurt feels his wings stretch he knows Puck can tell exactly what he’s thinking. 

He’s three seconds away from dragging Puck out of the kitchen and back upstairs when Finn clears his throat behind him, and Kurt flushes harder when he remembers that they’re not alone.

“I’m glad you’re back to normal, bro,” Finn says, over-large hand landing on Kurt’s shoulder and squeezing. His arm brushes the tip of Kurt’s wings, and it’s weird to feel someone else touch them after so long, but Finn doesn’t seem to notice.

“Thank you, Finn,” Kurt says, still blushing, and Finn grins and then heads out of the kitchen to get ready for work.

Once he’s gone Kurt turns back to Puck, watching as he crosses the room to reach out and slide a hand around the back of Kurt’s neck. “So?”

“So?” Kurt repeats, hands landing on Puck’s hips to pull him closer.

“So are you gonna admit I was right or what?”

Kurt rolls his eyes, because of _course_ the first thing Puck wants to do is say ‘I told you so’. But he’s got a point, and Kurt’s mature enough to admit when he’s wrong.

“Fine, you may have had a point. Though I still don’t believe there’s some higher power out there conspiring to get us together.”

“Why else would I still be able to see them when no one else can?” Puck asks, his free hand landing on the ridge of Kurt’s wing to trace along the curve. “Come on, babe. We’re perfect together, just admit it.”

“I’m not denying that we make a strange sort of sense.” Kurt presses forward into Puck’s body heat, arms sliding around his waist and pushing up under his shirt to flatten his palms against warm skin.

“Yeah, and if none of this had happened, you never would have figured it out.”

He’s not wrong about that, either, but Kurt doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to dwell on where he might have ended up if he hadn’t been more or less forced together with Puck, because as soon as he does his throat starts to close up and he has to swallow hard and press his face into Puck’s shoulder. Instantly the hand on the back of his neck squeezes a little, and that’s all the confirmation he needs to know that Puck can still sense what he’s feeling.

“Whatever the reason, I’m grateful it happened,” Kurt says, then he pulls back to look at Puck.

“Yeah, me too,” Puck answers. His fingers are still moving in Kurt’s feathers, stroking the soft down and sending little shivers of pleasure down Kurt’s spine. “I know this wasn’t part of your plan or anything…”

“Plans change,” Kurt interrupts, and when he smiles Puck lets out a soft laugh. “I mean it, Puck. I’m glad it happened. And now that I don’t have to stay locked up like some princess in a tower, things will only get better. We can have a life. Both of us. _Together_.”

Puck nods and buries his hands in Kurt’s wings, then he leans in to press a kiss to the side of Kurt’s neck. “I like the sound of that.”

~

In the end Puck leaves for work half an hour late and only slightly distracted. Kurt insists on dropping him off, mainly because he can actually leave the house for the first time in months without worrying about who he might run into. When he slides behind the wheel this time it feels different; his wings aren’t quite so distracting, and he doesn’t have to struggle to find a comfortable position to let him drive.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Puck asks when they pull up in front of the shop, leaning across the console to steal a kiss in spite of who might be able to see them.

“I’ll be fine,” Kurt answers, hand on Puck’s cheek and holding him close for a moment before he lets Puck pull away.

Puck nods, just looking at Kurt for a few seconds, then he turns to climb out of the car. When he gets to the door of the shop he glances back at Kurt, raising his hand to wave, and Kurt grins and waves back before he pulls out of the parking lot and heads across town. 

His first stop is the Lima Bean, where he has to make vague excuses to the baristas who still recognize him about a long-term illness. They spend more time fussing over him than Kurt’s comfortable with, but they comp his mocha, and they seem happy to see him again. After that he calls Mercedes to tell her the news, then he heads for the mall and spends some time browsing the racks at Macy’s just because he can.

The first time he accidentally brushes against someone in the coffee shop he tenses, but there’s no sudden wave of burning pain. There’s not even a twinge; there’s nothing at all, and Kurt’s heart beats a little faster when it finally sinks in that he really does have his life back. 

He has his family and he has Puck, and now he has a future too. He can move forward with his plans to go to New York if he wants to; the only difference now is that instead of worrying about Blaine’s role in his future, he’ll be making plans with Puck. Granted, they haven’t actually _discussed_ what happens next, but only because there hasn’t been time.

Kurt swallows a rush of nerves, glancing around the department store that suddenly feels a little claustrophobic. It’s been a long time since he was out in public, and he didn’t expect it to bother him, but now that he’s standing alone in the middle of Macy’s he wishes he’d waited until Puck could be here too.

He tries to imagine Puck following him around Macy’s while he browses the racks, wings stirring under his shirt at the image as though they think it’s sort of funny too. He flexes his shoulders experimentally, but his shirt doesn’t feel any tighter than it used to before he had invisible wings, and so far he hasn’t caught any strangers staring at his back as though they’re wondering if he’s got some kind of deformity.

So maybe Puck’s right and all he had to do was admit he really does want Puck, regardless of whether or not he _needs_ him, in order to get his wings to realize their full potential. Kurt contemplates another attempt at flight and laughs to himself, then he sets the shirt he’s holding back on the rack and heads out of the store before anyone starts looking at him like he’s crazy.

He stops and picks up some takeout, then he points the Navigator back across town to his dad’s shop. When he gets there Puck’s backing a car out of the bay and into a parking spot, then he climbs out of the driver’s seat. He looks up and spots Kurt almost immediately, surprise quickly melting into a grin when Kurt crosses the lot to stop in front of him. 

“What’s up?” Puck asks, hand on Kurt’s arm and sort of sliding along his sleeve. “You need a fix or something?”

As he says it Puck’s grin turns a little feral, and Kurt blushes and catches the hand that’s still resting on his arm. “Not that it’s not tempting, but the truth is I just stopped by to bring you lunch.”

And okay, maybe he did want to see Puck after the weirdness in Macy’s, but it’s not the same as when they were apart and Kurt’s chest ached so much he could hardly breathe. It doesn’t feel like he’s going to die if he doesn’t get as close as possible to Puck right this second; instead Kurt just...misses him, the same way he used to miss Blaine when he was still at Dalton and Kurt was back at McKinley.

“Yeah?” Puck says, taking the bag Kurt holds out to him without letting go of Kurt’s hand. “Thanks, babe.”

Kurt smiles and lets Puck lead him into the shop, past his dad’s office to the small room with a tiny table that passes for a break room. He watches while Puck pulls containers out of the bag Kurt brought him, and when he passes Kurt a Coke he wraps his hands around it and looks at Puck.

“Before all this happened, I was planning to move to New York.”

Puck doesn’t look back at him, but Kurt sees the way Puck’s hand freezes on the bag for a second before he nods and crumples it into a tight ball. “Yeah, Finn mentioned something about that.”

“I thought I was going to have to give up that dream,” Kurt continues, still watching Puck’s jaw as it clenches and then releases. “But now that it looks as though things are getting back to normal...I guess what I’m wondering is, would you consider going to New York with me? Not right away. If I get into NYADA it won’t be until next year, and even then...”

“You mean that?” Puck interrupts, finally looking up at Kurt. “You want me to go with you?”

“Of course I do.” Kurt doesn’t roll his eyes, but he _wants_ to, because Puck really can be an idiot sometimes. “You said yourself there was nothing keeping you here, right?”

For a second Puck just looks at him, then he leans over and plants a hard kiss on Kurt’s lips. “Just you, babe.”

“So does that mean you’ll go?”

“Yeah,” Puck says, the words warm against Kurt’s mouth as he leans in for another kiss. “If that’s what you want, I’ll go.”

The truth is that Kurt’s not positive what he wants anymore; a lot has changed over the summer, and even though he’s got his life back, he knows nothing will ever be quite the same again. Still, he knows he’ll regret it if he doesn’t at least try to make his dreams happen, and as long as Puck’s by his side, Kurt has a feeling everything will work out just the way it’s supposed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the fabulous [Alex Smith](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinoa/pseuds/Alex%20Smith) can be found [here](http://rinnia.livejournal.com/353879.html).
> 
> Betaed by the always patient [Jengeorge](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JENGEORGE).


End file.
